


The Boundaries of Our Fear

by All_i_am



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Adding more story to the events of the finale, Angst, F/M, Post Season 2 Finale, Saving Thea, Snapshots of Felicity's past, Team Arrow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_i_am/pseuds/All_i_am
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After injecting Slade with the cure, Felicity is forced to leave Oliver to fight Slade on his own. It's both the hardest and scariest thing she's had to do all night. Can she hold it together long enough to help a distraught Roy track down Thea before it's too late? Meanwhile, Oliver is attempting to use his head to solve problems of the heart. Because that has success written all over it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Was Never What I Am

Thea's high heels sounded against the hard wood floors. If something could be foreign and familiar at the same time, these clicks, these taps – they would be a whole lot easier to file away. It was a feeling that Oliver had been experiencing since he returned home from the island and yet it was still an emotion he struggled to define.

He remembered his mother and his sister – the Moira Queen and Thea that he had left in Starling City when he boarded the Gambit. While he had vivid memories of Moira's small yet distinctive wave when parting, the lines around her mouth after he had been arrested for his most recent bout of shenanigans, or the way her fingers played over one another when she was nervous – they were actions that he no longer felt belonged to him. He remembered Thea's bubbling laugh and the way her eyes flew to him in adoration every time he came home – but her laugh had stiffened and her eyes were too heavy with burden. Five years had distanced him from the mundane aspects of his pre-island life. Those same smiles and giggles that were once so well-known had changed; they were still there, yes, but they were only echoes of what he remembered.

The past five years had taken away so much of his first eighteen. Starling City – his home – didn't feel familiar anymore. It was like waking from a coma. He remembered the structure and details of his life, but he felt like a stranger trying to step into a role that wasn't his. He was the understudy in his own life and had never bothered to learn the lines.

Oliver had adjusted to his mixed feelings of familiarity and foreignness by accepting his life for what it was now while constantly having to remind himself that it wasn't the one he had left behind.

It was standing in the dark foyer with Felicity, whispering words to her – confessions he told himself were fabricated as a bid to draw Slade out – that Oliver started realizing how scared he was. He'd known what Felicity meant to him, of course, but it was only now that he was beginning to feel the acute gravity of that verbal admission.

She never made him feel torn. While the rest of the world viewed him as two separate people, the Oliver he had been before the island and the Oliver he was now, Felicity accepted that he was the same Oliver - he had just grown and changed along the way. She knew all his secrets, knew him better than probably anyone else, and yet she never expected him to be something he wasn't. He never had to prove himself to her. She never looked at him like he had let her down – even when he had. She knew how flawed he was, yet refused to believe that he was broken; broken was something that didn't work, that needed to be fixed. His wiring might be faulty sometimes, but she owned her own manual - and he was pretty sure she authored it. 

To her he was the TV that you had to hit twice on the left side to get rid of the static; the door that you had to push exactly 18 inches below the handle to make it open; the faucet that dripped until you turned the cold water tap ever so slightly towards the on position; the wobbly table that just needed a few napkins to boost its tired leg every once in awhile; the standard car that didn't like starting all the time – but if you pushed it fast enough or parked on a hill you could always coax it into first. And that's why she always looked at him like he was a hero. She knew he was good, he just needed that hand on his back guiding him the right way sometimes. He wasn't broken. Even despite his billions, in her eyes he was Bruce Springsteen's 'Jack of All Trades.' It was his deft fingers smoothing over the wrinkles, his strength sanding down the imperfections, his determination doing the repairing, and his unshakable integrity keeping them all going.

*~*

“Get them out of here!” Felicity hears Oliver slowly, sadly and precisely demand of Sara. She wonders if they will be the last words she'll ever hear him breathe.

Air is only entering her chest in short puffs, her vision is beginning to blur. Despite her night of fear – the ice that filled her chest from Isabel's glare of hate, the very true realization that they were being hunted by Mirakiru-ed soldiers, the sharp pain biting through her forehead when she regained consciousness in Oliver's arms, the confusion that eeked through her mind being on the receiving end of Oliver's charade, finding the willpower to trust Oliver and wait for Slade to take her, the brutality and hatred that radiated through Slade's touch, her mind trying to reason whether she hoped Oliver would or wouldn't return for her, the metallic chill of the blade on her neck, and the conviction that she had to find the strength to inject Slade with the cure – even with that whirlwind of fear, she hasn't felt as cold or scared as she does in that moment. Her body isn't responding.

Too far away, his blue eyes are sinking into her – it's not anger or even fear – he's pleading with her. And then just like that his gaze is gone, he is gone, as something comes between them, completely blocking him from her sight.

She feels the rise and fall of movement, but she knows it's not her legs exerting the effort. The arms curled around her body, while solid and muscular, aren't Oliver's. She tells herself that it is a deduction born from the fact that these arms aren't warm enough, they're not holding her tight enough – but she knows it's a conclusion reached because Oliver isn't with them.

Nyssa's talking to her, she sees her lips moving, but there are no words. Everything's quiet. She's numb. Glancing back towards the hallway they have just run through – or more accurately, the hallway that Nyssa carried her through – she knows the tears that she's been holding back are now slipping down her cheeks. Looking down at her with softer eyes than Felicity ever imagined Nyssa capable of, she is being pulled back into the Assasin's chest and the hallway is gone. The building is gone.

Nyssa places her softly on a curb, dropping her legs down to the the cold pavement before supporting her lower back and neck until she's confident that Felicity can hold herself up on her own. She feels like a child. Her dark, muted trance is broken just long enough to grab Nyssa's retreating hand. Her voice is gone and instead of the sincere thank you she intended to speak, only a strangled whisper leaves her lips. Nyssa gives her the same emotional look from the hallway, squeezes her hand and continues her retreat.

She doesn't know how long it's been since they abandoned Oliver, leaving him alone with Slade. 'Abandoned' – she can't swallow. She knows she has whispered it out loud when Sara is kneeling in front of her, drawing her into a hug.

“Felicity – we didn't abandon him. He told us to leave, he needed us to leave.” She pauses, and Felicity nods her head an inch, her ponytail swinging down over her shoulder.

Laurel is crying somewhere to their left, but Sara is still holding tight to Felicity. And she's whispering now, voice rough with tears, “He needed to fight Slade, Felicity. He needed to prove to himself, what you and I already know – that he is nothing like Slade..." "He needed to do it alone. If we had stayed he would have been fighting as a means to protect us and that wouldn't have been fair to him. This is about Oliver defeating an evil that he thinks he created, it's not about the vigilante defeating another enemy of this city.”

Felicity is nodding again, oxygen is finally flowing in a more regular pattern. With a small smile and a squeeze, Sara is standing.

“You, of everyone in his life, need to have faith in him.” Sara doesn't say it in an accusatory or cutting tone. It's more like a comforting, personal moment shared between just the two of them – Sara, the women who has been through hell, has had her identity demeaned, demolished, re-fabricated, and shattered repeatedly, is reminding Felicity to hold onto hers. A twelve word sentence and Sara has managed to somehow repair the cracks that have been forming and spider-ing at her core. Was there anything this woman couldn't do?

Her senses are starting to return and for the first time she can see the moon and stars, typically drowned by the noise and lights of the city, rolling on the stretch of dark water in front of her. She's walking toward the edge of the pier on legs that feel much stronger and surer than she had expected. Apparently Nyssa and Sara had had the same thought as both of them were standing, ready to catch her if she stumbled.

“I'm good, well maybe not good – we'll call it improved, - but certainly mobile without the need of wheelchairs, crutches, canes, handrails, shoulders, hands or any other device or body part.” Sara's smile is threatening to turn into a laugh before Felicity shrugs her shoulder and continues. “Just saying... if you remind a rambling, 'overly-active-minded' girl like me to be herself, you should probably prepare for a good number of rambles over the course of the next hour.” And with that she confidently walks over to the edge of the pier, only tripping once over a slightly raised plank on the boardwalk. She considers it an accomplishment.

Leaning on the banister in front of her she looks around. The smell of ash and fire are lingering in the heavy air of night, and she swears she can hear stillness. There's parts of the city still on fire or smoking, but everything else is eerily devoid of life. 

She's counting her breaths, trying to keep them as slow and as even as possible. The whole endeavor is failed and forgotten as her phone starts quietly singing in her pocket, and she hopes that no one else can hear it.

The lyrics of 99 Red Balloons are pouring out of its speaker and she forgets, for just a minute, everything that is going on around her. She lets her mind draw her back to the foundry only weeks ago when she had set the ringtone for Roy.

*~*

“Dig and Oliver have their own ringtones. When am I 'team' enough to get one?”

“Keep pouting – really – it's a good look on you,” Felicity zings over her shoulder, offering up an overly wide smile to Roy because she knows it will only irk him further. She's at her desk. Roy has just jumped off the salmon ladder; funny really, it doesn't have the same effect on her when it's not Oliver's body tightening in front of her.

If it were Oliver's shirtless, sweaty, heaving chest... (Really? Her mind needs to take the shortest, fastest route to 'Totally Inappropriate, Never Happening Lane' every second of the day?) she would have changed his ringtone to 'It's a Small World' without a second thought and not cared when the obnoxious, overly-sweetened voices came through her phone 24 times a day – give or take.

But this was Roy – and she was totally going to have fun with this. “And what would your ringtone be, Roy,” she asks as flatly as she can manage.

Digg's smirking at her from across the mats. After months of spending nearly every waking hour within feet of her, he can read her tells. He knows she's just having some fun with the kid. If Roy had asked nicely, and without the attitude that accompanied everything that left his mouth, she gladly would have found something suitable for him. But now? Let the humor ensue.

“99 Bottles of Beer on the wall? Rocky style – Eye of the Tiger? No – No – I got it. Bad, Bad Leroy Brown?” she goads innocently.

“I hear he's the baddest man in the whole damn town. Badder than old King Kong. And meaner than a Junkyard dog,” Digg calls from across the room. “But maybe that part about looking like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone, is more applicable,” Digg continues. “Personally, I think it's a good pick,” he finishes, emphatically gesturing to himself.

Oliver is chuckling next to Digg now – and if you look close enough there is actually steam exiting Roy's ears – or maybe the thought is just too perfect to pass over.

To everyone's surprise Roy takes a deep breath and calmly responds. Leaning conspiratorially over Felicity, but without ever taking his eyes off of Oliver's, Roy scratches his chin and scrunches his mouth to the side, thinking, before finally opening his mouth. “I was thinking more along the lines of the Divinyls, 'I Touch Myself.' It's Roy's turn to grin.

The amusement that had been on Oliver's face slowly slips off. He's balling his hands into fists, jaw tightening, eyes burning into Roy. Digg firmly places his hand on Oliver's shoulder before he can lunge across the foundry and wrap his hands around Roy's neck.

Felicity, trying to cool the tension in the room,” whirls her chair around. “I got it! Since I can't think of any 'I'm a young, ignorant donkey songs' off the top of my head, I'm setting you to 'Barbie Girl.'  
“Whatever,” Roy huffs. “Don't you all go getting your panties in a bunch. It was a joke, I didn't kick a freaking dog,” and with that Roy is taking the stairs two at a time out of the foundry.

*~*

Felicity never made Roy's ringtone “Barbie Girl.” She decided on “99 Red Balloons” instead, for as simple of reasons as red was the color she always associated with Roy and because she just liked the song.  
She never thought it would be so relevant... “It's all over and I'm standing pretty in the dust that was a city. If I could find a souvenir just to prove the world was here...”

She answers right before the phone goes to voicemail.

“Felicity..” a tight, saddened voice is choking through her phone, before she even realizes she has answered it. “Roy? Roy – where are you? Are you okay?”

“It's Thea.”

“Oh my God, Roy. Oh my God...” All the tears, anger, sadness, fear that Sara had talked out of her are threatening to squeeze the oxygen out of her lungs again.

“No! Felicity stop! It's not like that. She's just gone. She decided that today – with super-strength soldiers murdering and destroying, Slade still trying to hurt Oliver,” he paused for a second, but found it in him to continue, “and oh – I forgot, A.R.G.U.S. trying to blow up the city and everyone in it. Today, today, to-to-today just sounded like it would be a good day to play the teenage girl and take off.”

The phone is quiet for a minute, both of them calculating and weighing options, before Roy finally starts again. Sadder this time, the chipping facetiousness of his last rant missing now, he goes on. “What was she thinking, Felicity? What was she thinking" and as an afterthought, he adds, "she left a note.”

Silence.

“She told me that she didn't trust me – didn't trust anyone. She said that she was a different Thea Queen – that the world had destroyed the other one with lies and manipulation. Felicity...,” he's pleading now, “I need to do something. I need you to help me.”

Her voice is far more grounded and confident than she feels, “Listen Roy, I'm on a pier,” she's surveying everything around her when Sarah yells out “Pier 6.”

“I'm on Pier 6, Roy. You need to come get me. All I have is my phone, and I don't know what the communication towers are like right now, but I'm going to try and trace Thea's cell. She can't have gotten too far...” She's walking back towards the concerned faces on the curb, when Roy answers her.

“In case I forget to tell you later, or if I forget ever again, thank you Felicity.” With a deep sigh he continues “I talked to Digg, he's with Lyla – he's been trying to keep me updated." Pause. "We're going to get Oliver back. We're getting everyone back.” He doesn't wait for her to respond, “I'm on my way.”

She's bring the phone away from her ear when he starts again. “Oh, and Felicity... I need to bring the bike. There's too much debris and too many obstacles to get around any other way.”

There's another pause before she answers. “Roy, I know you can't see me right now, but just so you know, I'm wearing my 'Please-just-shoot-me-now-face' – just as fair warning. Bring me a helmet. And maybe some peppermint schnapps or something, because I'm so ready to let go of this day.”

She earns herself a small laugh, “I'm glad to know that we're living through Armegeddon and you still find it in you to ramble. Be there in 10.”

“Fantastic,” Felicity mumbles. She's typing furiously into her phone trying to get coordinates on Thea before Roy gets to her. Because trying to locate someone who doesn't want to be found using only a cell isn't hard enough as it is – let's add a swerving, bumping bike, an inexperienced driver, obstacle laden streets, and my nerves – just for shits and giggles. Maybe we could stumble upon some banana peels... and Mario, Luigi, and Princess Peach. It will be just like Mario Kart, except real...'

Sara is smiling, Nyssa is smirking, and Laurel is staring blankly at her. “That was all out loud, wasn't it?” No one answers. No one needs to.

Her phone beeps in her hand again. “And we got her. I'm just too good at this.” Eyes are back on her. “Out loud again, huh?”

“Sara,” Felicity is pulling her over to the side quietly, “I need to go with Roy. Thea took off on him and he's worried she's going to do something reckless. I've traced her to Old Airport Rd.” Felicity chokes out the next sentence in a barely audible voice. “As much as I need to stay – to see him, he needs me to do this more, I need to do this more – I owe him that much.”

Felicity's shaking her head, declining Sara's offer before she can even finish putting it into words. “I'll be with Roy, he'll keep us safe.”

A motorcycle is whizzing somewhere in the distance and Felicity offers Sara another smile before adding “I'm thinking if my biggest concern is Roy's driving ability, well... let's just say I take that as a good sign.

Before she can finish the word 'sign,' Roy is fishtailing to a stop in front the four girls and the rest of the League of Assassins. “See what I mean?!! I just feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy – where's my helmet,” Felicity yells to Roy before hugging Sara, stopping to thank Nyssa, and offering Laurel a saddened smile.

Roy is handing Felicity her helmet and pulling her into a hug in one fluid motion. “I found her,” she smiles to him as he starts doing up the buckle on her helmet. After giving him directions, complete with waves and arm movements for emphasis, she's swinging her leg over the bike and positioning her hips squarely behind him. Felicity secures her phone, squeezes her knees into Roy's sides and yells one last time back to Sara.

“Tell him we'll meet him at the mansion,” and she clings to the words, rolling them around in her mouth because she can't even begin to consider the alternative. With that they're speeding away.


	2. Always Wondering Which Way to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a heated exchange with Slade, Oliver learns Felicity and Roy have taken off in a desperate search for Thea. Just how successful the duo's search and rescue attempt winds up being is up for debate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Chapter 2 wound up turning into a monster. So here's the deal...
> 
> I broke it into two separate parts. I know I promised you we'd catch up with Thea in chapter 2 - well I lied. 
> 
> The consolation is, however, that I'm almost done editing the third chapter and will be posting it, along with the Thea scene, sooner than I had originally intended.

He had survived. With Slade finally incapacitated, the doubt that had nestled itself comfortably in the darkest corners of Oliver's mind began to slowly dissipate.

No one else was going to die today. He wasn't going to die today – at least not at the hands of Slade.

“You can kill me or not – either way, I win” Slade growled.

Tired and worn, the fight flared up in Oliver's eyes again. His leg screamed at him, his body ached, but he stood as still as he could manage. Had he missed something? Was he the one tied to a pillar? Had he failed to save the people he loved the most? Did he not subdue Slade without resorting to murder?

He'd let Slade believe what he wanted. Oliver had always had a different definition of victory anyway; Oliver's idea of success was making it off of the island alive, Slade's was ensuring Fyers and Billy Wintergreen never did. It didn't matter whose definition of victory was applied, they both equated to the same winner, and it wasn't Slade.

Tonight – this match – it didn't come down to the scorecards. Oliver had landed a hard jab, knocking Slade off his feet in the first round when Felicity had dosed him with the cure. Nyssa carrying Felicity away, removing her from the danger that was Slade, was a devastating uppercut that left him dazed. And now, as Slade stood slumped against the concrete, Oliver knew he had earned the knockout, and ultimately the win.

“So what now kid?” It was a simple, resigned question but it twisted itself in Oliver's chest.

He hadn't heard that Slade for a very long time. It was the Slade he chose to remember, the one full of fight, life and determination. Though they were qualities still now absent in his voice, it was a hell of a lot closer than the malice and revenge that had laced his every word and action since he chose the Mirakuru over the cure, revenge over forgiveness.

“You could have won tonight, Slade. You could have succeeded in killing everyone I love, burned my city to the ground and watched me suffer. But you didn't. You stumbled over the one thing that you claim has motivated you to destroy me. How does that happen?”

Slade didn't answer – he just looked away.

“You were so distracted, that you failed to note the danger that you invited into your scheme. I gave you the woman I love, offered her up to you despite my better judgment, but yet again you underestimated what it is to love.”

“More specifically, you failed to accurately calculate her love for me.” Oliver's voice was thick with fear and disbelief as images of a different ending to this night flashed through his thoughts.

“She was brave and strong, allowing herself to become part of your game because she trusted me. She was willing to risk everything to save this city – to save me.”

Slade was staring blankly at him, but Oliver didn't care. He wasn't done talking and Slade had no choice but to listen.

“She would have been selfless too...” Oliver sighs almost regretfully.

“If our plan had failed. If you had thwarted her attempt to inject you, she would have tried to sacrifice herself. She would have tried to save me from the guilt of the decision you would try to force me to make. She wouldn't want me to have to choose."

"Do you remember what that kind of love is like Slade?”

“You had it before Shado, and you could have had it again after, but you sacrificed all of it for the Mirakuru,” Oliver spit angrily.

After taking a breath, and with more dejectedness in his tone than he had meant to show, he let his eyes fall back to Slade's. “Where's your son now, Slade? Do you even know? Have you ever bothered?”

“Don't you dare. Don't you even pretend you know me Oliver Queen,” Slade violently shot back.

Forgetting about the exhaustion consuming his body, Oliver stalked back to where the ropes were still holding the Mirakuru-less Slade. Inches from Slade's face and with venom in his voice, he quieted the defeated man with words. 

“But I do know you Slade. The man you have become isn't deep at all. He's shallow, evil, selfish, weak.”

“The Slade you used to be wasn't anything like this. But now? Do you want to know what I see in the skeleton of a man in front of me?”

“You're a coward that couldn't find the strength to let go. You sacrificed the life you had fought so hard to return to in a moment of weakness. You surrendered your son, the man and father you once were – all for an ill founded vendetta! Do you think it takes all that much analysis to understand you?”

Oliver was shaking. Anger filled his throat. “Your son's father died trying to vindicate a ghost, a woman who is never coming back and whose true murder is already gone! Despite what you believe, the truth is, I didn't kill Shado! Shado didn't die because I picked her. Shado died because I was trying to save them both.”

“What's your excuse Slade? Why did you let yourself die? Shado fought to live, she didn't want to leave. But you? You let death consume you. You alone made the decision to abandon your son instead of returning his father to him. And it was you that tainted your love for Shado with blood.”

His anger was slipping away again, “you don't think I knew who you were then or who you are now? I know both - the man you once were and the monster you have become. And I know which one I tried to save.”

Pained, Oliver finished his last sentence. “Who you are isn't some deep enigma to be solved; you're a man who let the island win. And all that proves is that you're weak.”

Oliver didn't wait for answers or even a response. He walked away and left Slade staring at his back.

*~*

Felicity knew she had a good reason to hate bikes, but she let all of that slip away as her body whipped through open air. The weightless feeling that was rising through her abdomen was telling her she should have just let go and done this sooner.

She'd never been on the back of a motorcycle before – not that it had ever really been an option until recently. There was never anyone she trusted enough, and there weren't enough nerds at MIT willing to pry themselves away from their gadgets long enough to learn; they lived for microchips and gigabytes, not torque and 6-speeds.

One of the guys she had dated at school had a bike, but their relationship hadn't lasted through New England's winter to even reach spring. She wasn't sure that really qualified as an opportunity.

What had kept her away from the back of Oliver's 1000 though wasn't her lack of trust, it was her Uncle.

Her Uncle Tim was a man she barely remembered. She recalled images of a dark brown beard, a faded leather jacket, and an unfathomably large smile; a smile that her grandmother later told her had been passed down to his niece.

The same leather jacket she remembered hanging loosely off of Tim, had found a new home in her mother's closet the week after he died. 

It hadn't taken the 10 year old Felicity too long to understand its tattered and torn right side. She wondered how her mother could handle opening her closet to that every morning. Maybe it served as a not-so-subtle reminder that life happened, or maybe it was just another way to instill a fear of bikes into her daughter.

Felicity had never been to a wake before her Uncle's, but she understood the implications of a closed casket and the foggy look in her grandmother's eyes as she absentmindedly shook her head again. She wasn't just good with computers. Despite her tendency to ramble, she actually had a stronger understanding of the human condition than most. She understood. She knew.

She knew that it was due to his own carelessness that Tim had died. It had been him speeding. It had been him who got distracted. It had been him who ran the red light. It had been him lying lifeless on the pavement. And she hated him for it.

She didn't care if she had his smile or how many people told her how 'great of a guy' he had been. She couldn't forgive him.

She didn't blame him for running the red light, she blamed him for everything that transpired from that seemingly simple event.

It was because of him that his mother, his sisters, his family and his friends held a pain in their chests that no one would ever be able to heal. It was because of him that somewhere out there was a woman who carried a guilt that should have never been hers and whose son wakes up to nightmares of a face that he had never seen alive.

That is what the jacket in her mother's closet meant to her, but tonight – on this motorcycle with Roy – she was able to let some of that go. She knew it was foolish, but she felt connected to her Uncle in a way she never had before. All because of a bike ride, go figure.

“Felicity!”

She wondered how long Roy had been trying to get her attention. Another point in the pro column of motorcycles; she couldn't go off on her typical tangents and if she did, they'd only be caught up in the wind.

Roy turned his head to the side and yelled again, “I think we're almost there.” Felicity had her arms wrapped around Roy's middle with one of her wrists flipped upward so that he could follow the blue line on her phone's screen.

He was right, they only had about a mile to go. How had she missed so much of the ride? She assumed she'd feel all that much closer to the destruction of the city without a car door separating her from the outside, but it had been the opposite. She barely remembered riding through the smoldering streets of the city and she certainly couldn't recall when the apartment buildings of Starling had been traded in for trees.

She did her best to look over Roy's shoulder and check on Thea's phone again – sure enough the blipping dot had come to rest at the small airport, just as they had expected.

Thea was only half a mile away. They were going to make it. They had to make it.  
How they planned on leaving, however, had Felicity adding a point to the con side of motorcycles; how in the hell were they going to fit the three of them on here?

*~*

When the door to the roof closed behind him, Oliver let the pain he had been trying to push down bubble to the surface. Without the anger he had just unleashed on Slade, there was very little propelling his movements.

He dropped his body and his bow onto the top step of the concrete stairs and tried to just concentrate on breathing for a few minutes. He was tired – he was really tired.

Using a piece of his shirt, he tied off his upper calf in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, but judging by how far the dark puddle had already spread and the depth of the gash, he was going to need more than a makeshift tourniquet and soon.

It was quickly becoming apparent that getting himself down the stairwell and to an exit was going to be a bitch. 

After several minutes of coaxing his body to move, he pulled himself back to his feet and began to descend the twelve flights of stairs ahead of him. Trying to avoid putting any significant weight on his right leg was certainly starting to hinder his progress.

Exhaustion was beginning to claim him; he wondered if it was because the last remnants of adrenaline had seeped out of his body or if he was losing blood more quickly than he thought. It was probably a combination of the two.

He flinched as he limped off the last step. The door to the street, which on any other day wouldn't have proved a problem at all, felt like it was being held closed by Mirakuru-ed super soldiers. He managed to open the squeaking metal just wide enough so that he could slip through it – and even that was a feat.

He hadn't really expected Felicity to be waiting for him, but as Digg's lone frame ran towards him he couldn't help feeling a little bit disappointed.

Oliver let himself sink into Digg's side, gladly removing a majority of the weight burdening his lower extremities and lending it to someone else's more able body.

Digg's relative silence and the pulling tension straining his jaw wasn't quite what Oliver was expecting, and he wondered if maybe he had been injured. Fumbling the words before he even spoke them, Oliver couldn't get the question to leave his mouth. He resigned himself to asking about it later.

“Oliver, I need to look at that leg.”

“Diggle, you're going to have to do more than look at it,” Oliver seemed to growl.

“Let's not waste the time examining it now. When we get back to the mansion, you can check it out and sew it up all at the same time. It's as good as it's going to get without stitches.”

Aiming for casual and detached, but only succeeding in sounding like an 8th grader with a crush, Oliver asked what he had wanted to know since Nyssa carried Felicity from his sight.

''Where's Felicity? I assumed she would have gone and found you after – when she...,” Oliver didn't know what to say, and he hoped Digg had gotten the idea. He didn't have the mental or physical capacity to try again.

But all that met him was silence.

“Digg?” The all-too-familiar panic was reclaiming its perch in his chest.

“Diggle?!” It was a demand, a plea, a prayer. It was anger and sadness in one breath.

Digg sat Oliver down, body facing outward, on the back seat of the SUV. “She's with Roy. They're trying to find Thea,” Digg factually stated, trying to keep the concern from his voice. He failed.

“And?!” Oliver shot back in annoyance. He was too tired to pry. He just needed to know what was going on.

Before Digg could respond Oliver grabbed the medical supply kit that was conveniently sitting on the floor of the backseat – there probably because Diggle had had the foresight to know he was going to need it tonight – and shoved it into his kneeling friend's chest.

“Now just became the perfect time to start patching this leg up – and quickly.”

The sigh that Digg let escape his lips didn't do anything to comfort Oliver's unraveling nerves.

“From what I got from Sara, Roy called Felicity shortly after they had left you,” Digg nonchalantly stated as he snapped gloves on, rolled up Oliver's pant leg, and began the unpleasant task of cleaning the neglected wound.

“This is nasty Oliver. It's deep – real deep. With the amount of blood I'm figuring you already lost, to say that I'm surprised you're still conscious would be an understatement. I'll do what I can now, but we're going to need to see to it again as soon as we confirm Felicity's safe.”

Oliver shook his head before sharply responding. “My leg isn't exactly my biggest concern at the moment, Digg.”

“Damn it, Oliver. It will sure as hell be your problem when you have to fight, when you need to protect, and you can't so much as open your eyes!” Digg irritably bit back.

Oliver didn't say anything else – just turned and looked back at the building he had surprisingly managed to escape with his life. Maybe he wasn't going to live through the night after all.

Silence settled over the two men for a short time as Diggle methodically worked as quickly as possible and Oliver tried to keep from thinking. It was a feigned peace that didn't last long.

“Felicity traced Thea's phone. It was traveling south on Old Airport Rd.,” Digg exasperatedly started again.

“And when Roy picked Felicity up, that's where they were headed. They were thinking she was probably headed for Linden Airport's FBO.”

“But our jet is based at Bartlett's... - ” The rest of Oliver's sentence evaporated and he glanced back at Digg.

Diggle's mouth straightened, “I know. I'm assuming she's not alone.”

Digg was trying to finish off the rather sloppy line of stitches running across Oliver's leg, but before he had a chance to secure gauze and a bandage over the sutured wound, Oliver stopped him.

“What aren't you telling me...”

Diggle sat back on his heels.

“Lyla can't pick up a trace on either Roy's or Thea's phone...” He held Oliver's gaze before finishing the last part. “But Felicity's is 37,000 feet above the Pacific.”

Oliver's heart plummeted. The insecure part of him was wondering if she had taken off by choice, but the rational part had a feeling that something had gone wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your opinion matters to me. Let me know your honest thoughts - be them about style, plot, characterization or whatever else. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	3. Don't Ever Leave the Past Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Roy reach the airport where Thea's phone was traced. Confronting Thea might not be easy, but are words enough to make her stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is still reading! I'm a little up in the air as to where I'm going to go from here, so please have patience with me. I hope you enjoy the chapter and the story so far!

The gate to the small airport, used mostly for private aircraft, was thrown carelessly open. As they slowly rode past the abandoned guardhouse, disarray and evidence of hurried decision making surrounded them. 

There were vehicles littering the paved area in front of the hangar – numerous limos, Bentleys, Benzes, and one really attractive Aston Martin haphazardly thrown into park as soon as it had been convenient - whether practical or not. The structure itself, however, was missing most of its regular winged inhabitants. 

Of course.

The kings and queens - well maybe not the Queen's - of Starling City had used their wealth, power, and means to escape the crumbling metropolis. 

Roy easily guided the bike through the impromptu parking lot before cutting the engine and propping the motorcycle up on its kickstand. Using his shoulder for support, Felicity hopped off as gracefully as she could manage - which wasn't really graceful at all. 

Her legs prickled and she took turns shaking each one, trying to regain some of the life-like feeling she had gotten accustomed to experiencing in her limbs. 

Roy gawked at her, “Felicity, really, this isn't the time or place. There will be an appropriate time for the Hokey Pokey - and as surprising as this might be, now is not it.”

Felicity appreciated Roy trying to chase away the gloom that was rapidly descending upon them. There didn't appear to be any signs of life, and not finding Thea was quickly becoming the more likely result of their sad little search party of two.

“So young and naïve,” Felicity sighed as she shook her head in mock reflection. “There is always time for the Hokey Pokey, Roy. After all, the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about." A small smile broke through her lips before she hastily let it drop.

“Let's go check out the runway. Maybe we can find someone who works here," she suggested in a rather dubious tone. 

"Wow. That was almost convincing, Felicity. Particularly the part where your voice wavered. You know, where it seemed that you thought we had a better chance of spotting Bigfoot than an employee."

"I'm sorry, Roy. I missed the first half of that outburst. All I caught was 'and my better idea is...' Oh no wait, you didn't have one."

Roy sighed in defeat. "Touché." And they started off in the direction of the Tarmac. 

Felicity had enjoyed how easily her and Roy's relationship worked. She appreciated the wit, banter and familiarity they had developed so quickly. He was her younger brother; she helped him in the right direction and he was extremely protective over her. 

The fighter in Roy had them quietly edging their way against the cold metal sides of the hangar as he led her towards the opening opposite the side they had entered from.

After the sound of voices and the reverberating noise of clanging metal reached them, they found themselves moving much faster. With the added curiosity, it didn't take them long to traverse the length of the floor.

Hiding in the shadows, Roy reached his arm out to decisively push Felicity up against the wall, safely out of sight, before glancing around the side of the structure where the sounds had come from. 

It was dark but he was still able to make out the forms of two men. The rounder and shorter of the two, wearing a full suit and tie, was standing on a silver fuel truck, preparing the jet it was parked next to for flight. He was wiping sweat off of his forehead with the the sleeve of his jacket.

The second man, dressed similarly but certainly more impeccably than the first, had a taller and stiffer frame. It was the way in which he still managed to look down on the man who was easily five feet above him, however, that made Roy conclude that man #2 was the top of the food chain. 

Roy watched the man who was obviously the plane's owner impatiently check his watch before turning back to the limo. Evidently, he had decided that at this particular time it wasn't beneath him to take his own luggage out of the trunk.

The swiftness and ease in which Mr. Entitled removed the two large suitcases and placed them by the back door of the limo had Roy so shocked that he nearly overlooked the bright purple bag that was placed next to the first. Roy stiffened.

Apparently, Removing the suitcases was the extent of the man's effort however. Carrying them up the stairs of the jet must have just been beyond his capabilities. He wouldn't want to over exert himself. Roy could have gagged in disgust.

At some point during the short string of events, Roy's arm must dropped down to his side, essentially freeing Felicity from her confinement.

She was now standing next to him. And as the dark suit turned to survey his surroundings while he waited, what little light came from the fuel truck, lit his face up. Felicity gasped.

Before Roy had the chance to pull her back into the shadows and clamp a hand over her mouth, she was stumbling forward.

“You're, You're, You're dead. You died. You were killed. You. You never made it off that roof. You were pronounced dead. You were – you are - Malcolm Merlyn...” Roy had never heard her go off on a tangent so long with the use of such a small variety of different words.

He was in awe of her ability to say the same thing thirty four different ways. 

Malcolm's gaze froze on Felicity and a slimy smile slithered across his face. “Do thank Oliver for me, won't you? It's surprising how few people look for you when they think you're dead.”

Thea's confused face peeked out from the doorway of the plane.

“Roy?” She almost smiled, but she caught the emotion before it had a chance to manifest itself beyond her eyes. “What are you doing here?” she demanded instead, slowly making her way down the stairs. There wasn't so much as a hint of love in her voice.

He ignored her question, dropping his shoulders before quietly speaking. “What are you doing, Thea?” It's not anger or annoyance wrapped around his words; it's fear, love, sadness.

For just a second she thinks she is going to run down the last two steps and throw herself at him, but she doesn't. Instead she offers a cool response. “I'm going with someone who won't lie to me.”

Roy snorts. "Because his moral compass, of all people's, points due north? Maybe he won't lie to you, but planning a mass murder? He won't so much as lose a night's sleep over killing hundreds of innocent people. What an upstanding guy.”

Thea's eyes narrowed. “Well, with him, at least I know what I'm getting.”

Unable to stay silent another second, Felicity is speaking - and in her loud voice too. “Do you know? Do you know what you're getting?” Felicity can't hide the anger leaving her mouth. 

“So you're willing to exchange people that love you for... well - him? Someone capable of murdering innocent people, kidnapping and nearly killing your stepfather, blackmailing your mother, stealing your father from you, and banishing your brother to an island for five years?!”

Felicity could feel her cheeks burning but she wasn't about to stand there and listen to Thea place Malcolm on some pedestal of virtue while in the same breath condemning her brother for the lies he had woven as a way to protect her. Whether that was the right thing to do or not was an entirely different issue. 

At least Oliver was trying to keep her from the hatred and evil that this city and its inhabitants were capable of. Malcolm was going to submerge her into the depths of the wickedness, making her not only witness to it, but to actually be an instrument in such cruelty. 

Confused, Thea turned to look at Malcolm. It was the first time that his grin was threatening to sink from the corners of his mouth.

“What is she talking about,” Thea asked in a calculated voice.

“Speculation," Malcolm managed to squeeze through grinding teeth. With one word he tried to wave away the culpability of his actions – and with it, the truth. With that one word he breached the unspoken deal Thea and he had; she was willing to overlook all his wrong doings and transgressions in exchange for honesty. 

The sarcastic laugh that was forced out of Felicity's throat earned her Malcolm's direct glare. Unfazed by the threat, Felicity scowled back.

“And the honesty streak snaps at twenty-seven minutes,” her sardonic words feign regret. “and to think, you were doing so well...” she scoffed. 

Felicity watched his evil eyes darken. “You don't know what you're talking about,” he hissed.

“Actually, I know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't be fooled by the hair color. ” she slapped right back.

Feeling his footing beginning to slip, Malcolm turned to Thea. “Get on the plane, Thea. We're leaving.”

“I don't take orders,” Thea spit. She still hadn't broken eye contact with Felicity. “The last time I saw this woman she was flying into my step father's hospital room expressing her sincere delight that he was okay.”

Turning to Malcolm, she scrunched her nose and offered him a fake smile that only a teenage girl can perfect. “If it's not too much to ask, I'd really like to hear what she has to say.” Everyone present knows she's not asking anything - she's telling. 

“As your father, I am highly suggesting you get on that plane."

His voice is eerily calm. "You don't take orders? Well maybe you respond to threats.”

He lifted the bow that no one had noticed propped against the limo, pulled an arrow from his quiver, and aimed it unwaveringly at Roy's heart.

“Get on the plane Thea or your brother will be burying your boyfriend tomorrow.”

Thea doesn't have a chance to react. Felicity's wrath has overflowed, and she is angrily shouting.“You are not her father!”

Malcolm is smiling again. He thinks he has won. “Sorry to disillusion you sweetheart, but she does indeed share my DNA. I believe that's the definition of 'father'. No?”

Calmly, Felicity replies. She's not responding to Malcolm, she's speaking to Thea with a pointed look. There is warmth in her eyes though. 

"That may indeed be the definition of a biological father, Mr. Merlyn, but that's not enough. Your blood may run through her veins, but that same blood runs through a Queen's heart. The same might be argued for your son - he claimed to have grown up under the Queen's roof, Oliver and Thea more like siblings than friends and Moira and Robert more like parents than you ever tried to be." Malcolm's face contorted into a look of extreme hatred but true to form, Felicity continued her rant seamlessly. 

"Robert Queen was and will always be her father. You can never take that away from either of them. No matter how much you try, you'll never be able to replace that. You had your chance with Tommy. You failed. You don't get that second chance with Thea. She's not yours! " 

Felicity allows herself to meet Malcolm's cold, malicious stare without so much as flinching, before she returns her gaze to Thea. 

“You see that beautiful girl? Every day you are lucky enough to even catch a glimpse of her, I hope that you remember that you had nothing to do with that. Nothing!"

In a much calmer voice, still not letting Thea's eyes slip from hers, Felicity went on. “Do you know how old Thea was when Robert found out that it wasn't by him that Moira got pregnant?" There came no answer, not that Felicity had really expected one. 

"Robert signed the birth certificate at the hospital with strong suspicions. But he'd been there through Moira's entire pregnancy - doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, feeling the baby kick, helping his wife decide on a crib and nursery theme - this baby was his daughter." "Thea was three weeks old when he learned for sure. He could have run – condemned her – brushed her to the side, but he didn't. He couldn't. And it probably would have been easy - her being born from you. But In the nine months Moira carried her and the three weeks since she'd been born, he was so completely attached to his baby girl that he couldn't fathom her being anyone's but his own. And so she was. She still is. Can you even imagine that kind of love?" Felicity is starting to choke on her words as she struggles to quickly finish. 

"Don't let him take that from you Thea; that love is yours. And that's the true meaning of unconditional love, mr. Merlyn – it's not killing hundreds of innocent people as a pathetic, cowardly means to avenge your wife.”

There are tears falling down both the girls' cheeks, but before either can acknowledge them or the words that Felicity has just spoken, Malcolm's bow is tightening again.

“You have twelve seconds Thea.” His voice is disconcertingly calm. 

“I'm so so sorry,” Thea's sobbing as she retreats to the stairs. Before she disappears, she turns to Roy and whispers a quiet, “I love you.” Then her eyes are back on Felicity. It's only a faint smile but the sincerity and appreciation in her gaze soothes something in Felicity that she hadn't even realized was smoldering. 

And now that her attention had been drawn to it, she knew what the fire in her belly was. She didn't want anything to happen to Oliver, but if the more unthinkable event than a whispered 'I love you' occurred, she wanted Thea to know at least part of the truth. The identity of 'the Arrow,' would only ever be Oliver's secret to share - and if he left them tonight, they'd bury him with it. But Felicity couldn't let Thea leave thinking she didn't have a family and that all her brother ever did was lie to her. She would always be a Queen and Oliver would always love her with his entire heart. 

Now that Felicity knew Thea could see the truth, she let that fire burn itself out. 

With one last look back, Thea vanished through the doorway. 

As Felicity's focus started to shift away from Thea and back to her surroundings she sees Roy threateningly moving towards the jet's stairs. He's not even finished yelling, “We're going to get her back!” when Malcolm is releasing the bow string.

The gasp of air that Roy hears from behind him, drains the blood from his body.

Felicity.

“You should probably go help her, Roy,” Malcolm drawls. “It looks like I got her pretty good in that right shoulder. Did you know with an injury like that's it's actually more likely that I hit a major artery than not.” He feigns concern and winces before letting out a short laugh, “and because I'm so kind I'll share another bit of information. The arrow head didn't come through her back.”

Roy still wasn't moving. He hadn't so much as glanced at Felicity yet for fear that he'd collapse before he could reach her. 

He didn't know when he and Felicity had become so close, but they had. She'd kind of snuck up on him and never let go. He couldn't imagine a life anymore without her as a friend. 

“Let me simplify that for you,” Malcolm taunts. “The arrow didn't come through the other side. It's lodged in bone mass; she's in excruciating pain. If she doesn't go into shock, I'd guess an hour would be all it would take for her to bleed out."

"Chop, chop, Roy. Time's ticking."

“She'll never love you,” Roy snarls towards Malcolm, hoping to hell that the words had hurt the man as much as that arrow had him.

His feet are carrying him to where Felicity is hunched on the ground beside the limo.

Malcolm is yelling again, but it's to the horrified man who has just finished refueling. “You! Throw the bags in, and let's go! If I find out that you left the keys in the limo, I will slit your wife's throat.” As malicious as the last words are, Malcomn manages to utter them nonchalantly. Malcolm turns and Roy's darting to Felicity. 

Roy had Felicity sprawled over his lap, as the man that Roy now knows is the pilot walks over to retrieve the bags. “Sorry,” he guiltily whispers, but Roy doesn't even acknowledge it.

His hand is on the arrow. “Don't” she winces. “It's slowing the blood flow." It takes a few more deep breathes and a strenuous effort before she speaks again.

"We need to get out of here. He's right. I'm dying.”

The words are sobering. She's not just bleeding or hurting. The life is leaving her body - she's, in fact, dying. He'd never thought of serious wounds like that before.  
He'd been brutally beaten and all he was was hurting; he'd been stabbed but all it was was pain; he'd never thought of it as 'dying.' The thought makes him shiver. 

Roy lifts her body and as quickly and carefully as his running legs are capable of, gets them back to the motorcycle. This is going to be a problem.

His mind is quickly formulating designs and analyzing the situation. He debates whether he should run to the poorly parked cars and see if anyone was careless enough to leave their keys, but he doesn't have the time. And there's only one reason that he would allow her to leave his arms - and the only man he would be willing to take Felicity from him isn't there. 

The lengthy shaft of the Arrow has left options rather limited so he places her on the seat in front of him. 

He debates using his belt to slow the blood flow to her arm, but in the end decides to use it to fasten her upper body to his own chest instead. It won't matter how slowly she is bleeding if they drop the bike, he reasons. 

His arms are threaded under hers – holding her back flush to his front while simultaneously gripping the handlebars. His hips are hugging hers and his thighs are keeping her lower body balanced and upright.

With her head leaning back onto his shoulder, he can't help shuddering at the idea that if he had been teaching her how to ride, this would be the exact position he'd be doing it in - minus the blood, belt and arrow, of course.

Like Oliver would ever let that happen. 

As he reaches forward to switch the bike into the on position, she's whispering in her ear. “We're going to get her back, Roy,”

She might be the most selfless person he's ever met. "You're bleeding to death and you're trying to comfort me?" He pauses. 

"I don't know if he deserves you; I'm not sure anyone does.” The last part is drowned out by a roaring jet and he's not sure if she heard him. Either way she doesn't respond.

He squeezes the clutch and holds in start button. The bike rumbles to life.

As they're speeding through the dark streets, he wishes he had had the providence to have found her phone and gps-ed the pier.

*~*

Digg is hastily securing the bandage, meant to keep Oliver's wound clean, with medical tape when both men stop and look at each other. A bike is whizzing somewhere near.

“Digg. Pier. Now.”

Oliver is swinging his legs into the car as Diggle jumps into the driver's seat. They're at the pier in less than 90 seconds.

He can barely make out Roy's face through the throng of people that have already surrounded the bike, but Oliver knows, without a doubt, that the blond hair draped ominously across the red sweatshirt is Felicity's. His heart stops. She can't be gone. 

Diggle is shouting orders. Everyone is moving back. Oliver's pushing forward.

Roy gently, regretfully, places Felicity into Oliver's arms. 

The arrow in her shoulder is mere inches from her heart, but he can feel her slow breathing. He lets out the breath that he was only quasi aware that he was holding.

Dropping his forehead to hers, he whispers her name.

“Oliver,” she whispers in response. It's sad and surprised. It's like she never thought she'd get the chance to say it again; he wonders if it's because she thought he died fighting Slade or because she didn't think she was going to make it back. It didn't matter now. They were both alive and they were going to stay that way. 

Holding her in his lap on the tailgate of the Tahoe, Digg is trying to stabilize her enough to get her to a hospital – however near or far that may be.

“I thought you left, Felicity... Lyla couldn't track my sister's phone or Roy's"

She doesn't let him finish. “Mmm,” she smiles, “and mine is taking a surprise trip." She coughs and wheezes painfully. "Shh, shhh Felicity," he's whispering into her hair. She blatantly ignores him. And after she controls her breathing continues slowly, "surprise mostly because there's only two people who know where it's going." A small smile dances quickly across her lips. 

She allows one eyelid to open to see the confused look on Oliver's face. Then she let whatever Digg had just given her, take her under.


	4. Just Keep Holding On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes,  
> One - sorry for taking so long to update. Deaths do indeed come in threes. Needless to say, I haven't been in the writing mood. And you probably wouldn't have wanted to read it.   
> Two - thank you to everyone for reading, favoriting, following, etc. I enjoy reading the comments - it's refreshing to hear a reader's unbiased opinion.

Thea pressed her small palm to the window. It was all she could offer for a regretful goodbye as her breath hitched and the plane whipped down the runway - taking her with it. She felt all the eeriness hidden in the stretch of blackness before her and wondered how easy it would be to let go and allow the shadows to lap over her skin and suck what was left of the light from her body.

She didn't need the pulsing rhythm of the marker lights, that had lit the path so many times before, to know the plane was taking off. She could feel it leaving the ground. It was a feeling she had loved - weightlessness, freedom, and even trust, twisted into thirty seconds. A whirlwind of power, roaring and speed that pushed her into the sky. That innocent magic was lost now, replaced by a lonely detachedness that had settled in her chest as she was hurtled into flight.

Takeoff - she added it to the ever growing list of things he has ripped away from her.

Wishing this was a bad dream that would fade away when consciousness returned, Thea let her body sink into the soft white leather willing it to transform into Roy's arms pulling her into an embrace. But she didn't wake up - the distance between her and home only growing and the seat never turned into Roy - it remained the inanimate object it had always been.

The reflection etched in the window was someone she didn't know. Someone she didn't want to know. Each minute she remained angry at her mother, at Roy, at Oliver she could feel another sliver of the Thea she had been slipping away. And she couldn't let him do that - couldn't let him take that.

Thea had always been consistent, sure of herself, and despite what her letter to Roy said, she knew she was strong. Strength wasn't keeping people out, doubting, untrusting. Real strength was what allowed you to let people in, to trust and love no matter how many times you got hurt. Strength was opening up even after life taught you to do the opposite. Strength was living five years without her brother and father, not letting tragedy consume her - although sadness sometimes did. Strength was the selflessness of that pretty blonde, loving and trusting blindly to try and save her - Thea Queen, a girl she had never truly met before. Strength was the compassion in her eyes as she pulled Thea away from that proverbial edge. And thankful was now what Thea was. This woman risked her life assuring Thea knew the truth before she let herself be lost forever. Strength was the devotion and faith that had throbbed in her chest.

Tears were starting to pool now, threatening to leak out.

Thea used to be strong - resilient. But she got tired, and fighting demanded a lot. It was just easier to be weak. She couldn't pinpoint the moment, but eventually she ran out of reasons to exert the energy to be anything but. The boat sank and instead of swimming to shore she chose indifference; she would either be rescued or drown. At first she hadn't really cared the end result. And then she did. Her brother's blonde had screamed her name, forcing her eyes open seconds before she careened off the edge.

There had been a flood of relief as purpose and love found their way into her bloodstream again. That small glimmer of happiness dwindled and shortly after regret and disappointment - in herself this time - ripped through her. Forgiving her mother should have been something she actively worked towards. Trusting in her relationship with her father - believing that he had loved her - she had owed him that. She had owed herself that. Offering support to her brother who had spent five years alone on an island instead of demanding his time was the right thing to have done. And she hadn't done any of that. The Thea she had been would never have given up on her family. That Thea would have fought - would have stayed.

The girl she was now chose to run. Regret settled heavily on her shoulders, forcing that one tear to trickle down her cheek. There just wasn't enough room in her heart or behind her eyelids to hold in even one more drop of sadness.

"What are you thinking about?" Malcolm softly asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

Blinking rapidly, and wiping at the line of spilled mascara, Thea tried to push her thoughts and emotions deep inside. He didn't get to see her like this. He didn't get to see the real her at all. Felicity had been right, he didn't deserve her.

Malcolm sat across from her. Studying. Analyzing. His eyes, cold and calculating, made her feel sick, but she wasn't about to let him win. Her body was tingling with anger.

Slowly removing her stare from the window, Thea answered his gaze with a scowl. But before he had the chance to say anything else she stole her attention back, leaning into the window, watching her home fade into darkness. It wasn't until the quiet, broken city disappeared from view that Malcolm attempted to speak again.

"Thea, talk to me," he exasperatedly pled.

She let out a bitter laugh and sunk lower into her seat. "What I'm thinking about, hmm..." She tapped her index finger thoughtfully against her lips before sourly replying. "I'm thinking of all the daddy-daughter things we can do, how much I missed you, how happy I am that you're back in my life. Is that what you want me to say?!"

They're not yet at cruising altitude, and she lets her eyes follow the lanes of highway traffic below. She wills herself to do anything but look back at Malcolm, but after a deep breath, she meets his eyes. It's the first time she feels how cold they actually are.

Chills shoot down her spine. Refusing to let the shudder wracking through her body visibly manifest itself she clenches her teeth together.

"I'm not asking you to lie to me Thea - I'd never ask you I do that."

She audibly gags. "Wow. I'll have to remember to nominate you for father of the year when we land. Remind me, won't you?" She admonished with an eye roll.

"Thea...," he takes a deep breath as if all he's doing is deciding where to start.

"No. Don't. Don't waste either of our time." Her voice is steadily rising. "You think all it takes is the right words and you can brush this aside? We can start fresh? Is that what you tried to do with the Glades? Shouldn't you know by now it's a flawed way of mind?"

She takes a few deep breaths and holds up her hand when Malcolm goes to speak again.

"Do you want to know what I'm really thinking about? I'm making a mental list of things you've taken from me - or at least the things you've tried to take." She starts shaking her head with a disbelieving grimace pulling her lips.

"Disregarding you being the mastermind of the Undertaking - which, to be fair, was all I thought you were guilty of when I agreed to come with you - you tried to take my future and my past. You attempted to strip away the parts of me that mean the most, that make me a Queen. But now..." The last words were hushed but a wave of light crossed her eyes and she continued on.

"You were responsible for the Gambit weren't you? You're the reason my father is dead? That I lost my brother - five years physically but in all likelihood forever emotionally. Those five years stole the brother I knew. You stole the relationship I had with him, because it will never be the same. My mother. You turned my mother into a monster when you forced her to surrender her morals to keep Oliver and me safe. And what about Tommy? My closest friend, my second brother, he is dead because of your spitefulness. Because you needed to level the Glades-"

"Tommy isn't dead because of me," the man across from her boomed, cutting her off mid sentence. "He's dead because Laurel wouldn't leave, because he went in to save her, because the vigilante was too late. "

"You do realize that applying your own reasoning, you killed your own wife. You are responsible because you didn't answer your phone. It wasn't because of the man who inflicted the wound - the blame falls on you because you failed to save her? Guess the Glades didn't deserve to be destroyed after all," she bit.

Anger flushed across his face, but the practiced self control would not let him aim any of that frustration at her.

"You took the four closest people in my life and you think there's anything in this world that you can say or do to make it better - to make me forgive you?"

A long minute passed, her focus back on the blipping light on the wing's tip, before she offered an answer to her own question. "You'd be wrong."

* * *

Sara and the assassins had quietly left, leaving just the four of them on the pier. After stabilizing and sedating Felicity, Digg had pulled out his phone and started making arrangements. He was going to lean on A.R.G.U.S. one more time tonight; they didn't owe it to him or Lyla, they owed it to the unconscious blond curled up in Oliver's chest - both literally and figuratively. If it hadn't been for her, Amanda would be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. People unlucky enough to be in Starling City at the wrong time. It didn't matter how cold and detached Amanda may be – innocent blood always stained. Whether the drone was for the greater good would have been irrelevant, signing the death sentence for innocent people would have haunted every corner of her existence. She'd never be able to wash it out.

"Waller."

"It's John Diggle. You need to get me a Medevac chopper. Smoak is severely injured. I've stabilized her for now but she's going to need a hell of a lot more than a band aid - and fast. She'll bleed out waiting in the ER of Starling General."

Waller didn't answer. "You owe her this Amanda," Digg managed to squeeze through clenched teeth. She saved a city tonight. You can make the phone call to save her life."

After a small sigh Amanda acquiesced.

"We're on Pier 6. Easily enough room to land. But listen, we don't need any of your men. Lyla can pilot. I can handle the paramedic duties."

Waller didn't answer. "This is the only solution. Too many of us need to get on that chopper. No one is staying behind." He looks back to where Olivet is sitting, "It's really not even an option."

Waller hangs up and all he can do is hope that's a good sign. He walks back over and takes a seat next to Roy. "Chopper's on its way."

Both men nod. After a couple of minutes, Oliver's voice cuts through the silence. "I want to go to Catema," Oliver softly states - never lifting his eyes from Felicity's still form. "With Starling's hospital a mess, the overflow into Central City can't be much better."

"Good point," Diggle agrees. "The extra 30 minutes of air time will be worth avoiding the mobs sure to be found in both cities' hospitals."

The quiet settles comfortably between them before it is again disturbed. Diggle is back on his feet, stopping in front of Oliver before quietly speaking. "You need to go change. Let me hold her for a minute. You have a suit in the trunk. Sweatpants are in the bag in the front seat. Take your pick, but something comfortable might be easier on that leg." With a look of displeasure, Diggle motions to the long, discolored gash sliced through Oliver's calf.

Diggle doesn't bother to wait for Oliver's response; mostly because it's not really a suggestion. Oliver knows he can't stroll into a hospital, whether it be by front door or helipad, as the Arrow without some kind of legal backlash. And he can't change while his arms are wrapped around Felicity. Oliver takes one regretful sigh, regains his feet and slowly lowers Felicity into Diggle's waiting arms. Oliver's slow, careful movements are endearing and when he leans down to place a kiss on her forhead before he walks away, Diggle swore a trace of a smile curled her painted lips.

On the painful jog to the car Oliver's attention was pulled to his chest. At first he thought that the chilling sensation where he had pulled her to his front was just because the warm body that had been against it was gone. But when the area only got colder, he looked down and saw just how much blood had soaked through his shirt. He quickly ripped it from his body and removed his leather pants almost as fast, ignoring the screaming throb when he tore the leather down his right leg. Sweatpants now on he was running back to Felicity.

Oliver was still pulling his second arm through his long sleeve tee when he stopped in front of Digg.

"That was fast."

In response Oliver threw his bloodied shirt at Diggle and reclaimed Felicity from his arms. "She's bleeding faster than we think."

Diggle looks at the size of the blood stain and cringes. We'll have more supplies on the chopper. We'll be able to staunch the bleeding more effectively then. Oliver nods wordlessly and brushes away the wisp of blonde that had fallen across Felicity's lips. His hand lingered on her cheek and his eyes on her lips. My God was she beautiful.

Her cheeks were pale especially next to her vibrant lips, but the calmness on her face made her look as if she had fallen peacefully asleep in her bed. The arrow and crimson puddle spreading across her shirt were what suggested something was wrong. Here face was soft. There wasn't any pain or fear there. The few times he had ever seen the emotion grip her features, it had never been fear for herself. It had been times that she thought she lost him or was going to lose him. Despite the original bitterness in her voice as he relayed the trap the clock maker had caught him in, her worry soon outweighed any other emotion. There had been that scared, pleading look in her eyes when Oliver had told her that he was going to surrender to Slade. Even when the Count was pressing himself against her, threatening her safety - even then the trepidation on her face was for him.

Fear hadn't been there at the mansion though. She trusted him enough not to be afraid. Her willingness to believe in him had warmed parts of his heart that he thought he had lost, but leaving her as bait had doused him in ice water. Failing her wasn't an option.

She flinched in his arms, drawing his attention back to her face. The hoodie was big enough that unzipped, he was able to wrap it around her body, careful to stay away from the arrow. Dig had been able to safely cut most of the shaft off to make holding and carrying her less awkward and dangerous. He hung his head again, feeling her quiet breaths against his ear. He didn't deserve her light in his life. And she didn't deserve his darkness.

Oliver's thoughts were scattered by the quiet voice of Roy.

"He's not dead." It was the first time Roy had spoken a word since he had dropped the blonde to Oliver's chest.

And all of a sudden the pieces where slamming themselves together. He had never thought to ask before. Felicity was hurt. All his focus went to righting that problem - how her life came to be threatened hadn't been a focus yet. He had just assumed that it had been some sort of Dark Archer copy cat, but that wasn't the case. It was Merlyn himself. Oliver assumed, in her anger, Thea had easily been coerced to go with him. Merlyn had taken Thea and he was responsible for what happened to Felicity.

How exactly did two men from his past - both of whom he believed died at his hands - come back and try to take Felicity from him?

Oliver's eyes met Roy's. Patient, softer than expected, hopeless. They mirrored one another's.

Roy started again. "We got there in time – well obviously," he hastily motioned towards the small body in Oliver's arms before looking away. But Thea's gone and Felicity's hurt – and I couldn't save either of them. I watched Thea leave and didn't even see the arrow hit Felicity..."

The distinct sounds of a propeller were approaching and Roy let the buzz fill the air instead of his words.

The helicopter touched down lightly and Lyla's small frame was throwing the door open. Gently, methodically the guys load Felicity onto the stretcher and into the helicopter.

* * *

The pain was gone. But whatever had taken it away had taken most of everything else too. Her eyelids were too heavy to even peek through and she lacked any capacity to move on her own. She remembered lying in Oliver's lap when she was pulled under, and because it was his voice she heard when sound occasionally broke through her fog, she suspected that's where she still was. But she couldn't lift her hand and place it over his chest or tilt her head far enough back to see him, no matter how much she wished she could - no matter how much she craved to comfort him. She couldn't reach him with her voice either. Despite her propensity to ramble and her surplus of verbal gaffes, she couldn't form a sentence, much less part her lips to utter the words.

She wanted to burrow her body against his to assure herself he hadn't left. She guessed that he had wrapped his sweatshirt around her when something was tucked under her hip and the smell of him became exponentially stronger. The hoodie kept the wind from biting, but the one thing she was beginning to feel acutely, was cold - bitterly cold.

It was the first time she had let fear sneak in between her breaths. And immediately memories, past nightmares, filled her drug induced haze.

An eleven year old version of herself walked through the snow with her cousins. It was the first Hanukkah after her Uncle Tim died and her mother thought it would be nice to spend the holidays with her other brother, Joe, his wife, Beth, and their three children. Maura was 15, Ben - 14, and Shannon - 6.

Apparently there was a limit on how many games of Romey a 15 year old would actually play. Maura's had been eight. So when she complained and whined for an hour, her parents were easily persuaded into letting them go ice skating at the lake down the street.

Felicity didn't have ice skates but she layered three long tees, two pairs of pants, put on her warmest wool socks and went with Maura and Ben anyway. She didn't want to stay with Shannon and the adults - she wanted to spend more time with the cousins she barely knew.

After a ten minute walk, the three reached the huge rocks that lined the lake's edge. Felicity, despite being an avid hockey fan even at 11, had never skated before and she watched as her cousins laced up their skates. She remembered thinking how large of a project such a seemingly simple task was, but that wasn't going to stop her from begging her mother for a pair. She'd get them - her mother would buy her anything if it didn't have microchips, circuit boards and wasn't a computer.

"Felicity, you can go out with just your shoes," Maura interrupted her one-sided musings. Her filter hadn't yet broken; everything she thought didn't always come stumbling out of her mouth. "The ice looks pretty smooth so you can probably slide around on your boots."

Felicity felt her head nod, but when she didn't move Maura threw her a look of condescension and a snide comment. "Or you can just stand there," she sarcastically shot Felicity's direction. "I should have known you were too young to come with us. Your mother should never have let you out of the house; I came out here to have fun, not babysit. "

Felicity felt her breaths getting shorter and tighter as she held back a sob. What had she done to make Maura so agitated? But it wasn't the first time Felicity had been picked on, and being the nerd she was, she knew it wouldn't be the last. So she did the only thing she could think of. She answered the challenge. Pushing her glasses back up her nose with the green knitted mittens her grandmother had specifically made for her trip to New Hampshire, she met Maura's eyes with a coolness of her own.

"Stop being a bitch, Mau. Felicity can do whatever she wants. How the hell does her decision to either stand on the rocks or the ice affect you anyway? You know, sometimes I think you're just as horrible of a person as the friends you constantly complain about. You might even be worse."

Felicity offered Ben an appreciative smile, but she had already made up her mind. By meeting Maura's piercing gaze she had taken on the dare, and she wasn't backing out. She felt the loss of traction as one boot found ice and then the other.

A minute later and twenty yards from shore, Felicity learned what cracking ice sounded like.

Ben had yelled something, but the voice in her head was berating her too loudly for his words to get through. She never cared what people thought or said. Why did she choose today to start? Peering back over her shoulder she saw an annoyed Maura shaking her black curls, before returning to her skates.

Another thirty seconds later, Felicity had a clearer understanding of the words 'ice cold.' The frozen sheet below her feet shattered and she plummeted into freezing blackness. Her boots had slipped when the ice splintered, angling her body just far enough so that the back of her head slammed against the last bit of ice that had been thick enough to support her weight. The shock of the enveloping frigid water would have sufficiently disoriented, but when paired with the mild concussion she would later find out she sustained, all direction was lost. This must be hell; it wasn't fire, it was ice.

As she tried to push the panic away and find the hole she had fallen through, hands grabbed her coat. In her winter clothes, layer upon layer soaked through with water, she knew she was dead weight. If she wanted to make it out alive, she needed to focus. Kicking her feet, she tried to help propel herself, trusting the hands to pull her in the right direction.

A full minute after the initial splash, she found out how much she had missed oxygen, gasping and gulping as if she couldn't get enough. Maura still hadn't moved from her rock, but Ben's chocolate brown eyes were inches from hers - soothing and supporting.

He was lying on his front, hands fisted into the shoulders of her coat. His lips were moving, but it wasn't until his second attempt that Felicity placated herself enough to hear. "Felicity, calm down. You're going to be okay but you need to breath and listen to me. You can't hyperventilate. Try and lay yourself as flat as you can, and kick; think of it like you're going to swim up onto the ice."

Two minutes later Ben pulled her the rest of the way. He slid her towards the edge of the lake, leaving a slick trail as water drained from her clothing and pooled on the opposite side of the ice than it had previously been. When he deemed the ice thick enough, he lifted her shaking body into his arms. Without the slightest glance at his sister, Ben carried the shivering Felicity home.

Her traumatic recollection was broken, however. Something had made it through her fog again and she could feel her body being hoisted. She felt arms other than Oliver's wrap around her and lay her down. Fingers were still wrapped around hers though, and those she knew were Oliver's.

Her senses were starting to return. Still lacking motor abilities, her hearing and consciousness of feeling were sharpening. Without the magic of the sedative and without the stream of heat Oliver provided, the cold that had seized her earlier only bore deeper; it was beginning to send tremors through her body. The pain was back. The throb - the separate heartbeat that pounded in her shoulder was pattering again, but she couldn't open her mouth to cry out.

A needle slipped out of her arm and a minute later hands were pushing on her shoulder again. She thought the strangled noise that had echoed in her ears had left her throat, but when the hand that hers was currently resting in squeezed gently, all doubt was removed.

His whispered voice was next to her ear. "Felicity, stay with us, okay? We're on our way to the hospital, but Digg needs to try to slow the bleeding again. Just hold on. Please. Hold onto me tight."

How many different ways could he utter that sentence without it ever being in the context she hoped it to be?

The fog settled over her again, dully masking the pain. But she was still holding on, even if it was only because Oliver had asked her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there wasn't a lot of development in terms of plot, but expanding on the emotional and mental dynamics at play was just what this chapter happened to turn into... 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Waiting is the Hardest Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who are reading, commenting on and following. 
> 
> I apologize - again - for the delay... But here's Chapter 5. I haven't decided how I feel about this chapter yet, but I'm excited to continue with the next one. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

Oliver's footsteps fell heavily on the tiled floor, echoing through the short hallway before eventually reaching the waiting area where they were consumed by the large room. Just hours ago he had been struggling down flights of stairs believing it was the concluding effort to what had already been a very taxing day...week, month, year. Little had he known, the emotional drain of his evening was about to demand more from him than any physical battle. And the night wasn't over yet... It was this resounding thought that forced all the muscles in Oliver's body to cramp and his lungs to falter and forget the steady rhythm they were supposed to be keeping.

Just when Oliver thought that he was finally tapering off the fraying, another thought - another string got caught somewhere and he started unraveling all over again. Felicity had been taken from his arms and out of his sight one hour and twelve minutes ago, but it seemed more like three days. Nurses had tried to talk him into lying down and getting some fluids in him - stitching his forehead - cleaning his leg. Digg had tried to convince him to calm down. To rest. To breathe. To wait. But the only person in the world who could talk him into doing any of those things was on a metal table on the opposite side of the Operating Room door from him.

Tucking his lips between his teeth to stifle a frustrated yell, he clasped his hands behind his neck and squeezed. She had to be okay. She couldn't die - couldn't die because of him. Because he was weak and had taken too long to fight Slade; because he was foolish and had wasted the time trying to reason with an unreasonable man; because he had been ignorant and had descended the stairs far too slowly; because he had failed to kill Merlyn; because he had been thoughtless.

He shouldn't have let Digg spend the time stitching him up. They should have headed to the airport immediately.

While his mind played Russian Roulette as to which decision weighed the heaviest, his body slid down the wall, his hands roughly dragging through his hair as if pulling hard enough could change reality. He was too busy studying the simple off-white tiles to notice that Digg had ventured down the hallway towards him.

The hospital was surprisingly un-hospital like. The floors weren't waxed to a shiny gray and the lighting didn't make him question whether it was acceptable to wear sunglasses inside or not. Instead of bulky, fluorescent bulbs glaring from above, a soft yellow glow wrapped around the ceiling's edge - its dimness appropriate for the early morning hour and conducive to the difficult task of helpless waiting.

The walls were painted a warm shade of beige. It wasn't dark enough to overwhelm but it wasn't such a washed out version of the color that it would have been more practical to just go with white. Chocolate brown and sand colored leather chairs lined the room and clustered near the center. They were plush and soft. They weren't anything like the typical plastic and metal ones found in most hospitals - the uncomfortable objects clearly not designed to be sat in for more than seventeen minutes and yet always seemed to hold their guests for hours.

But as inviting and comfortable as the waiting room had been, Oliver refused to leave his post outside of the operating room.

"Oliver."

Oliver's head barely rose, but his eyes shifted high enough to see Digg's concerned expression.

"I couldn't hear your limping pacing anymore. Just wanted to make sure you were still conscious." Digg had tried for light, but when Oliver had no response, the big man pushed his fists into his pants pockets. "Wanna go get a coffee? Sandwich? Beer?... Whiskey? Mint chocolate chip ice cream?"

Digg immediately regret the last option. He had said it in an attempt to comfort but it failed. It squeezed something in his chest too tightly.

Oliver stilled, but pitying Digg's attempt, he sighed deeply. Paused. And then looked back down at the floor, sadly murmuring "I need to be here," towards tiles that neither heard nor cared.

Diggle was done playing empathetic. "Listen Oliver, you have two choices. And both scenarios start with you getting up off that floor. It's not helping her and it's certainly not helping you."

"Digg..." it was a soft yet deeply spoken warning, but Digg either chose to play deaf or decided that in his current shape, Oliver couldn't take him in a fight, therefore making the threat moot.

"Option A," Digg boomed. "You let them work on your leg and your injuries in a clean, sterile hospital room. Option B, you come to the cafeteria and get a coffee with me. It's one in the morning - you're running on fumes, and even that supply is dwindling. This teetering on the edge of a psychotic break thing has lived as long as any of us can handle."

"I don't want to fight, John," Oliver said as he pushed the heels of his hands to his forehead. Still making no move to get to his feet.

With an overacted, sarcastic expression of relief, Digg dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. "Thank God, because I didn't want to do the Option C thing either." In a sterner tone, "get up Oliver."

Oliver huffed. "It's your turn to listen. This is as much as I'm willing to concede... I'm not moving more than six feet away from those doors. I'm going to be here when they finish operating. And I'm going to be next to her when she wakes up. So if you can talk one of the doctors into working on my leg in the hallway – then we've got a deal. If you can't, I suggest to-go cups for that coffee, because I'm not moving from this spot."

Diggle let a small smile pull across his face and he nodded his head. "Love her like a friend? I don't know man. You're starting to move on from 'friend' territory." He hadn't been expecting a reaction, much less a reply.

"And that surprises you?" Oliver asked in a defeated tone.

Somberness idled in the space between them.

"And all this time I thought you were perceptive..." Oliver breathed, offering a shadow of a smile to his friend. It was genuine and heartfelt but it wasn't deep enough to reach his eyes. But it meant something big. It meant something real. And Digg knew it.

Oliver pulled himself off the floor awkwardly, trying to keep a majority of his weight on his left foot and leg. He closed his eyes for a minute, gathering and shuffling words around again - trying to make them hurt less or at least make more sense. I can't leave, Digg. I know I'm no use to anyone sitting here, but this is where I need to be right now."

"Diggle... I'm barely holding on."

****************************

When Digg returned with two styrofoam cups full of a liquid that failed in its attempt at being coffee, Oliver was still slouched by the door. His legs were drawn up in front of him, feet flat on the floor and elbows tensely perched on his knees. His forehead rested in his palms, fingers knotted in his hair, ultimately hiding his face from the few doctors and nurses that occasionally walked by.

He could have passed for a worried family member whose stress, fear, and anxiety had finally stolen every last bit of energy, leaving his body in a shallow doze. But Diggle knew better.

Oliver wasn't asleep. He wouldn't sleep until he knew that Felicity would still be there when he woke up. If she lost this battle - if she never pulled through - it was probable that Oliver would never rest again. Digg shook the idea out of his mind - Felicity would be fine.

Oliver looked up. He had known Digg was there, had known when he got off the elevator actually, but he waited as long as he could to be pulled from his thoughts.

"Coffee?" Diggle reached out to hand a cup to Oliver, before sliding down the wall and taking a seat next to him. Absentmindedly Digg took another sip, wincing as the murky substance met his lips. You really had to try to make coffee taste this bad.

After five minutes of silence Digg slowly got to his feet. "I'm getting too old for this, Oliver. I can't sit on that floor. But those chairs out in the waiting area... Now those are certainly a step up. Let's go try them out."

Digg extended his hand yet another time tonight. Oliver stared blankly at it. "Oliver... Another 30 yards isn't going to make a difference. The doctors know where to find you."

"For once in your life Oliv -"

Before Digg could mumble the second half of the sentence Oliver held his hand up and pulled himself to his feet. The action was surprisingly fluid for someone whose leg required medical attention - which was the next step after getting Oliver into the waiting room. Felicity might be the one who was able to get Oliver to do anything, but he was ex special forces and had his own proven-effective strategy; Oliver wouldn't take the big leaps unless guided by his girl but small steps? Small steps Diggle could coax him into - after all he wasn't without talent.

The waiting room was empty besides the sleeping forms of Lyla and Roy. Roy was sans his hoodie, but an appreciative bubble rose in Digg's chest when he saw the red cotton balled under Lyla's head. For someone who had seen so much pain and so many wrongs in his life, the kid had a good heart - whether he was willing to admit it or not.

In an attempt not to disturb the two who were able to find sleep, Oliver and Digg settled in seats by the windows. Rain was steadily thumping against the glass, drops collecting together before racing one another to the bottom of the pane and out of sight.

Staring idly out the window, Mr. Observant himself missed Digg's small gesture towards the nurses' station, and not two minutes later a young brunette was replacing his coffee with a rather large plastic cup of ice water with the order to drink. Mage, per her name tag, hadn't exactly come unprepared. One of the other nurses had rolled over a set of drawers which Oliver assumed was full of a variety of medical equipment and supplies, before rearranging some of the chairs around them. His leg was now up on a table, that only a minute ago had been displaying various magazines from 2007, and Mage and her accomplice began busying themselves. Mage was taking his blood pressure while the second nurse - whose name he still couldn't see - went about rearranging the leg of his sweatpants to get a better view of his injuries.

"I don't remember agreeing to medical attention, Diggle," Oliver said, his tone dripping with forced indifference. The nurses never looked up, and continued taking his temperature and readying antiseptic solution. He assumed that they knew something he didn't.

"Funny story about that," Diggle started. "Remember when I told you, as Felicity's health care proxy, you had to sign that stack of paperwork..." Oliver's eyes slowly shifted from his leg until he was glaring steadily at Diggle. Diggle, however, rather than be intimidated, only looked amused, so the bodyguard continued. "Well somewhere in that pile, there may or may not have been some paperwork for you too."

"John..." Oliver ground out, but Diggle, dropping his satisfied smile, cut him off. "Oliver! You needed medical attention. We don't know what cut you in the debris, what if that piece of metal was rusted? What if your cut is already starting to get infected?" They knew what had cut him and where he had gotten his scrapes and bruises but falling debris sounded like a good excuse. Apparently 'I accidentally got into a fight in which my opponent had a samurai sword - oops,' doesn't bode well when you're trying to convince the world that you're not a crime-fighting vigilante. And surviving a fight against a samurai sword isn't exactly run parallel to the 'average joe' claim either.

Mage spoke then. He does have a low grade fever - 100.7° Usually a good sign of a started infection."

"See?" Diggle said as he threw a small smile at Mage. "Felicity fell asleep with you alive and well. When she wakes up do you really want to be the patient in the bed down the hall from her? She - nor do I - need anything else to worry about at the moment."

Oliver still didn't agree with his friend's method, but who was he to judge? He was constantly using whatever he had to in order to get the confession, the money or the information from those he targeted as the Arrow.

Mage and Beth finished cleaning and dressing his wound, gave him some antibiotics and left them in silence.

It was over two hours later when a doctor walked into the quiet room. "Mr. Queen?"

****************************

"Aruba? When you wanted to take me somewhere quiet and train me... Well I guess I envisioned something - something not as... touristy..."

Malcolm smiled. It might even have been real, but Thea just couldn't care. She was angry and far too tired. "At this point in time, I'm not really sure you're ready to train. You don't have to like me Thea, but at the very minimum, you need to be able to look at me for more than three seconds at a time."

Thea made her way down the stairs of the plane. It was still dark, but small blue fluorescent lights lit each step as she descended.

She walked confidently to the door of the limo, finally beginning to feel like the Thea she wanted to be. She paused before climbing into the backseat, looking back over her shoulder. "You should probably get comfortable here then," she shouted over the vibrations and roar of a plane that was just taking off. At the confused look on Malcolm's face she went on. "You know - if you're waiting until I can look at you to take me to the Dark Archer lair and train me." Shaking her head, because he wasn't even worth her time, she climbed into the dark car.

The pilot/chauffeur loaded their suitcases into the trunk, the whole limo shaking as he slammed the door closed. Malcolm was looking at her again, she could feel his gaze and all she wished was to escape it.

"Where are we staying? I'm exhausted. I just want to go to bed."

"I have a house here. You can stay in Tommy's room," Malcolm hesitantly answered.

"Is that supposed to be comforting? 'You can sleep in your dead brother's room. You'll love it,'" Thea mocked.

"I didn't mean it like that, Thea," Malcolm sighed as he turned to peer out the window.

They pulled through large wrought iron gates and were soon parked in front of a monstrosity of a house. Thea could smell salt water in the breeze. Of course - a mansion on the beach. Who didn't need 200,000 square feet for their couple weeks of vacation a year?

She was gravitating towards the front door when it was thrown open by a thin, but cheery looking older woman. "You must be Thea," the woman cried, stepping out onto the porch. "You must be exhausted dear. I'll show you to your room and I'll have Michael bring your bags up."

Thea smiled and let the woman lead her into the house. She reminded Thea fondly of her Raisa and she couldn't help but like the woman already. It was refreshing not to be called 'Miss Thea' constantly, but she still missed her housekeeper and the comfort she so willingly and often shared.

As Thea followed the woman up the stairs - the older woman still sputtering on about the island and the house - Thea finally interrupted her. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Oh, yes," the woman smiled, "please just call me Peggy. You just let me know if you need anything."

They twisted their way down a couple corridors before reaching their destination. "Ah, here we are," Peggy cooed. The room was painted a calming robin's egg blue, and a cream colored rug, that Thea could tell was unbelievably soft just by looking at it, was spread across the middle of the handsome oak hardwood floors. The quilt stretched across the king sized bed was a patchwork of soft blue with matching pillows perched against the headboard. Thea swore she could hear it calling for her.

A dozen photos of beaches, waves, storms and oceans were evenly dispersed around the walls. One in particular grabbed Thea and as she walked over to better discern a powerful lightning bolt over a darkened beach, she heard Peggy come up behind her.

She was talking quietly and tiredly now. "Tommy put those up when his friend went missing. I'd never seen him so downtrodden and for so long; broke my heart. Did you ever know him, dear?"

Not knowing which 'him' the housekeeper was referring to, synchronized tears fell from each of Thea's eyes. She thought it appropriate - one for each of the brothers she had lost. She was wiping them away as she turned back to the housekeeper.

"He was my brother." She knew the sentence was gargled, and she knew it was only going to make the housekeeper feel bad. But it was the truth, and really, she was just tired of lying.

A regretful, pained look washed over Peggy's face multiplying her wrinkles, but before she had the chance to utter a word, Thea was speaking again.

"Peggy, who do you think I am?"

"Mr. Merlyn just told me that Thea, a young family friend, was going to be staying awhile - but I suppose I know now - you're a Queen. You're Thea Queen. Makes so much sense now."

"They were both my brothers," Thea whispered, but the quietly spoken secret was drowned in the gust that made the curtains dance around the set of French doors that led to her own balcony. Thea took it as her way out.

"Peggy, I think I'm going to take a shower and head to bed. Would you mind bringing my suitcase and a glass of water up?"

"Certainly, dear. Would you like me to unpack for you?"

"Oh, no, I'd prefer to do it myself, but thank you." Thea offered the woman a small smile before heading into the room she had discerned earlier as the bathroom.

The room was beautiful. The white tile of the floor were shining where sparkles speckled their surface. The double sink that sat along the wall to the left of the door was a dark blue granite swirled with hues of white and grey. Glass framed the shower that was nestled in the back corner of the room. Its walls and bench were the same blue as the sink, and white grout clung to the hundreds of smooth white pebbles that made up the floor. There were three chrome shower heads, numerous jets, and a medley of shampoos, conditioners, and body washes that Thea would have to remember to thank Peggy for tomorrow.

The jacuzzi tub was situated across from the sinks, near the door to the bedroom. Even wrapped in granite, the tub seemed relatively ordinary when compared to the rest of the bathroom. It was huge and had dozens of jets; Thea really didn't want to think of the things that had probably happened in that tub.

A small door to the right of the tub, held the toilet, another small sink and a makeup vanity.

Thea turned the nozzles on the tub and grabbed some of the salts that were sitting on the shelf-like granite that stretched around the tub. She double checked and found fluffy white towels hanging from the rack on the wall behind the jacuzzi before walking up the two steps to climb in and submerge herself in warmth.

The jets felt amazing and for the first time in hours she let tension leave her body.

When she was satisfied with the severity of the wrinkles that her fingers had inherited, she pushed the button to drain the water, pulled herself to her feet and wrapped her calmed body in one of the hanging towels. She couldn't wait to crawl in bed; she'd be asleep in minutes.

But sleep didn't come easy - didn't come at all actually. And after tossing and turning against the cream colored, million thread count sheets for over an hour, she decided she'd be productive and unpack her suitcase. She'd only opened it a crack so she could pull out the T-shirt and pair of underwear closest to the top after her shower, but now seemed the opportune time to find homes for all her clothes.

She turned on the bedside light and left the warmth of the bed. Her small feet padded against the hardwood as she reached the closet. Her suitcase was propped at the foot of the linen, cream colored chaise and she threw the top open.

Sometime after hanging her dresses and in the middle of depositing her underwear in the top drawer of the intricate dresser, Thea caught a shimmer of metal.

Stashed between the side of her suitcase and her yoga pants was a white iPhone. Her heart raced.

Malcolm had taken her phone away before they left so that she 'wasn't tempted to try and reach out to Roy or Oliver.' What had he said? "Leaving is as much of a goodbye as you need; people get the picture." He must have read that in his Parenting 101 book.

But this wasn't her phone...

So where had it come from? Turning it over in her hands she tried the home button. The screen flashed on. It didn't display the typical home page - just a solid black background with what appeared to be a rushed note in white text.

T.

Hide this. Don't mess with it at all. It will hold enough charge to trace. Stay strong.

I meant everything I said. Your brother loves you. And Roy does too.

F.

A smile seized Thea's face and warmth filled her body.

They weren't going to just forget about her.

****************************

"Oliver Queen?"

Oliver stood. But it didn't matter how adamantly he willed words to leave his mouth or how many questions floated through his mind - he couldn't get his tongue to say anything.

He stood there, frozen, breathless. This man could only tell him two things - sure, varying details could surround each end, but it ultimately came down to life or death. Whatever the doctor said would change his life forever. Oliver wondered if he knew that, if he was used to being the bearer of that news, if he had become accustomed to being the starting domino.

"Yes, he's Oliver Queen," Diggle filled in for him. And that was all he needed to ground himself again.

He looked expectantly at the doctor.

"I'm Doctor Chartreuse," the dark haired man in his mid fifties said before extending his hand to shake Oliver's and Diggle's. Diggle offered a rushed introduction that Oliver cut off when he finally blurted out, "how is she?"

Dr. Chartreuse pulled his eyes from Diggle's and placed them on Oliver. He gave him a small smile and a nod, "She is fine Mr. Queen. She lost quite a bit of blood, but she is going to be okay - in quite a bit of pain, but okay."

Before Oliver could interject again the doctor went on. "We're giving her something for the pain and we are going to continue doing that. The shoulder isn't the most ideal place to be injured - you have the muscles and tendons of your rotator cuff, the shoulder joint itself and of course veins and arteries. Ms. Smoak has a significant amount of nerve damage, a partially torn tendon, a nicked artery, and some trauma where the arrow lodged in bone. She's lucky though - her blood loss was quite extreme. They are getting a room situated for her now. When she is settled you'll be able to see her. I'll have Mage come get you when we have her all situated."

Digg and Oliver stood motionless, as the older gentlemen walked away.

She was okay.

Not a half hour later, a very tired Roy, Lyla, Digg and Oliver were following Mage to a room on the 5th floor.

The room Felicity was in was a smaller version of the waiting room - beige and dimly lit, but Oliver couldn't absorb any of that. All he could see was Felicity's small frame in the oversized hospital bed. She looked so pale now; without the vibrancy of her painted lips, her cheeks looked almost powdered. Pain rippled through Oliver's chest, because there was nothing he could do to make it better. And all he wanted to do was fix this. To take her pain away.

He let Digg and Roy clamber to her sides first as he held back and hovered close to the door. Each of them uttered reassuring words and kissed her cheek before Digg finally turned back to Oliver.

"We're going to head across the street and get a couple hotel rooms. Should we get you one...?"

Oliver's back was pressed to the wall and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants. At Digg's voice, Oliver looked up from the staring contest he was having with the floor to look back at his friend.

He couldn't find words of his own. Just shook his head. Now that he had her, how could he leave her?

"Roy, Lyla - let's go." Digg's voice filled the room.

Both men clapped Oliver on the shoulder, Digg offering an accompanying knowing look while Lyla just gave him a tired smile as the three filed out of room 571.

Plunging into silence, Oliver slowly made his way over to Felicity's side, grabbing a chair and dragging it with him.

It wasn't until he wrapped his hand around hers - when he could feel the gentle thumping of her pulse under his fingertips that he felt himself relax. For the first time in hours he felt content. He felt whole.

And that's how he fell asleep. And that's how she woke up.

The cold she remembered from the moment Oliver had let her go and loaded her onto the helicopter had finally left her. Felicity didn't know if the warmth she was now enveloped in was an effect of the drugs, due to the blankets draped over her body, or a result of Oliver's proximity. She had just started becoming aware of his head resting rather intimately low on her hip and his fingers were lacing with hers, when the machine next to her beeped and pain killer swirled into her blood stream.

She was pulled back into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I am thankful for any and all comments. :)


	6. When I'm Not There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver's tangled up in indecision - and he's not doing too well handling it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story - everyone who has read, commented or followed. I'm sorry this update took so long. Life kind of happened. I suppose if anything good came out of the five feet of snow in my yard, all the time off from work gave me time to write (when I wasn't wielding a shovel and digging out, of course.)
> 
> After the last chapter, I struggled making a decision on the direction I wanted to take. Hopefully it all works out. Let me know what you think. Any thought, comment, or criticism is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thanks again,
> 
> Chelsea
> 
> **Quick Note: Anything in italics is some form of a dream

It was midnight, yet she still wasn't tired. She had showered, unpacked, unsuccessfully tossed around in bed but she still couldn't sleep. The exhaustion she had felt earlier had evaporated. The weariness that had riddled her body and mind was gone now. All that was left over was a suffocating regret. Everything that had consumed her before had been because she let it. The anger, the pain of betrayal, the hate - her family didn't deserve that. Roy didn't deserve that. They were never quite who she thought they were, because sometimes hanging onto ideals is more convenient than reality. She saw only what she chose to. It was her own fault that she was disillusioned - when you place everyone so high, failing to recognize their flaws, there's only one direction for them to go. What she expected from her family was impossible.

Moira Queen was far from flawless. No one can wear so many faces, be so many people, and only stay true to one of those personalities. They all meld together at some point, and Moira had been acting for an awfully long time. Eventually she became all of them. There was a piece of her that was forever a mother, the woman who loved unconditionally, but somewhere along the line she forgot that there was a whole lot more to mothering than kissing boo-boos. She was the professional, the strong, decisive woman that ran a fortune 500 company, but she let that world reap her humanity. She was the woman who buried her husband and son, the broken mother and wife whose losses consumed her; she never really came to peace with the fact that they were gone forever. Thea had known all her mother's sides but she chose the rose colored glasses over the truth.

And Oliver? How had she ever expected - rather demanded - him to be the brother she remembered. The words coming out of her mouth may have been claiming that she understood, and to a degree she did, but she wanted Ollie back. She had seen the scars. She knew he hadn't been alone on that island - emotionally, yes, but physically, he was trapped with an unimaginable evil. He had tried to tell her on that first night. "Cold." He was communicating so much more than the climate of Lian Yu. She knew she had no right to demand the impossible. Yet she did.

Even Roy. She had left, abandoned him. She was the biggest hypocrite; she had been as cold and cruel as the world she despised. Everyone deserves a chance to explain. Sometimes things just aren't what they appear. She expected ideals even if she knew it would be fake - that he'd just be playing the part. What was wrong with her? All along she should have been questioning herself, not condemning everyone around her.

And now here she was in Malcolm Merlyn's house. In her late brother's bed (who so happened to be her other brother's partner in crime, and her friend). How fucked up was she? The therapy she needed certainly equated to years.

* * *

 

A soft knock on the door roused Oliver from the mindless bliss that was sleep. His head was resting low on Felicity's abdomen, their fingers loosely laced together.

Disentangling himself from her, Oliver was still trying to shake thoughts of her becoming a more permanent pillow when Diggle's head peaked through the curtain.

"Hey. How's she doing?" Diggle softly inquired.

Running a hand over his face, Oliver responded just as quietly. "As good as can be expected, I suppose. She still hasn't woken up."

Diggle nodded, knowing that with the amount of pain killers currently coursing through her system, she may not reach any sort of conscious state anytime soon.

"You look like hell, man."

"Did I already mention how glad I am to see you too?" Oliver snidely responded.

Diggle let Oliver's remark go. "Here," Diggle said, laying a hotel key card and a coffee on the small table next to Felicity's bed. "At risk of sounding like a mother... Go shower. Eat. Get some rest. I'll stay with Felicity and if she so much as flutters an eyelash or the doctors give us any more updates, I'll call you."

Oliver was quiet for a moment - watching the blips of felicity's heart monitor while weighing his options. "I don't know if I'm really ready to let her out of my sight again yet."

"That is certainly going to pose a problem when you return to your everyday routines," Dig huffed. "Or are you just going to continue creeping? Posted up outside the front door of her condo or sitting on the rooftop across from her fire escape. All, of course, for her benefit - for her safety."

Leaving his elbows on his knees, Oliver slowly turned his head towards Diggle, who was standing off to his right, slightly behind him. "And what's that supposed to mean Diggle?" Oliver quietly bit back.

"Your ability to play stupid never fails to surprise me, Oliver. You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Diggle angrily whispered. Trying to tamp down on his anger, Diggle paused before he finally continued on. "When are you going to stop playing this game? When -"

"It's too dangerous Diggle!" Oliver cut him off.

"It's all dangerous, Oliver! You're a fool," Diggle said in disbelief. "Do you think it really matters whether she is 'just' your EA or your IT girl? Oliver Queen's enemies already know that he values his beautiful, intelligent blond far above anybody else. And the Arrow's enemies? They know the risks you are willing to take for her. No one cares - with maybe just the exception of you - what title you assign her. All they need to know is that both sides of you are willing to do anything to protect her. She's your weakness no matter how you try to spin it. You will come for her no matter the cost; and that simple fact will always put her in danger. It doesn't matter what you call her, she will always be a means to get to you."

They both let the silence fill in around them before Oliver threaded his fingers through his hair in agitation. "You just don't understand."

Dig let out a fake laugh, "You're right, what would I know about trying to protect my loved ones? How would I know about near death experiences or how that danger makes you fear getting close to anyone ever again - never wanting to put anyone else at risk because of you. But it doesn't work that way Oliver. You will always need people in your life, and there will always be people refusing to leave you behind, try as you might to push them away. Holding her at arms length isn't keeping her safer - and it sure as hell isn't helping you sleep better at night."

It wasn't until Oliver started shaking his head in rebuttal that Diggle lost it. He took a page out of Felicity's book and used his loud voice (who were they kidding? They weren't going to wake her up no matter how loud they yelled).

"Tell me. When are you going to tell her the truth? What's it going to take for you to admit that that performance last night was anything but - that it might be the most honest thing that has come out of your mouth since returning from the island? What's the price for that admission? Your life? Hers? Well, you were both at risk of losing your lives last night! What gives you the right to decide whether the 'what-ifs' are worth living with?"

After a deep breath, Diggle's anger seeped from his words and was replaced with sadness. "I'll leave you alone," Diggle said heading towards the door. He paused with his hand pressed to the frame. "But, think about it Oliver. For the first time, it was you that almost lost her last night... and you almost shattered. She almost loses you on a regular basis. Every night she shows up at the foundry, she knows there is a risk you might not come back. She risks her heart every day, Oliver. At some point the risks of being together must outweigh the pain of being apart... You guys are already together every waking hour. If you don't think she's safer being with you at night too - sharing your bed, then you're delusional."

The door quietly clicked closed and Oliver was back to staring at the heart monitor, even more frustrated than when Diggle arrived. He picked up the coffee his friend - who was quickly escalating to personal shrink - had brought for him. Even if this one was a little cold, it was good enough that they actually advertised their brand on the side of the cup - better than the sludge from last night.

He peered at the hotel card and frowned. Maybe he'd take Diggle up on the shower idea. There was a sporting goods store across the street from the hospital and next to the hotel where he could stop to grab clothes that weren't bloodied, torn or dirty. He was clinging to the hope that a shower and some sleep would help with the sickening feeling that was growing in his stomach.

* * *

 

The power to open her eyes or mouth might still have alluded her, but she felt otherwise mostly awake. There was a steady ache in her shoulder; she couldn't imagine the throb it would be without whatever they had hooked up to her iv. But the pain from her shoulder was the least of her concerns at the moment.

Slowly emerging from the haze her mind had been lost in, Felicity had heard their voices. Actual words had still yet to sink through, but she would know those voices anywhere. Could she have smiled, she would have. At first she wondered if she were trapped in another dream, but as her senses sharpened, she could finally discern actual sentences. Oliver and Diggle were somewhere to her left talking about... well, her, apparently.

Fighting to try and reach out to them, she succeeded only in twitching her right hand. She continued in her attempt to pull away from the oblivion that was trying to reclaim her. She wanted to hear them. To see them. To talk to them. It didn't take long for her to relinquish the fight. "What's the price for that," she heard an angry Diggle ask. Instead of an answer from Oliver, she heard a continued argument from Diggle. Oliver wasn't going to change. This dance was going to continue indefinitely. Sadness washed over her, and she let go of the small piece of consciousness she was clinging to so the sedatives could reclaim her, take her far away from that hotel room. Why was it that the only lie he ever managed to sneak by her was a statement she longed to believe, that she hoped had been true? It had all been a lie.

Of course it had been an act. Slade had the right girl the whole time. Felicity knew this story all too well. Laurel - It would always be Gorgeous Laurel.

* * *

Oliver didn't remember the ride down the elevator or the curious eyes that followed him through the lobby. His mind was sifting through various thoughts and images of Felicity - some of them real, some of them concocted by his wishful imagination, and others still made purely from his fear.

_He's sitting in the stands of an ice rink. He can feel the smile form on his lips as he watches the free for all that is youth hockey. There are twenty tiny humans, fully padded in equipment that looks like it shouldn't even come in their size, gallivanting (because really, have you ever seen six year olds play hockey?) on the stretch of ice in front of them. There's a girl on the blue team struggling to push her oversized helmet further back on her head while simultaneously trying not to drop her stick through the very large gloves on her hands. One of her other blue team mates is clinging to the boards at center ice because staying vertical is proving to be a bit of a challenge. And there's the boy on the green team who keeps trying to kick the puck, because the skates, ice and sticks still aren't enough to convince him he's not playing soccer._

_Oliver's eyes are pulled to the other side of the ice where the green team's goalie, who hasn't even had the chance to make a save (mostly because the puck has seen a whole 3 seconds in his zone) is beginning to get bored. So far he's shuffled back and forth across his goal crease making snow with his skates (he has no clue why he's doing it, but it's what he sees the goalies in the NHL do, so naturally, logic necessitates he do it too); he has clumsily removed his helmet and gloves, while the puck is still in play of course, to have a sip of water; and now it looks as if a gravitational pull is bringing him closer and closer to center ice. Apparently he is having an internal debate as to whether he should consider abandoning his net and playing as a forward. Oliver can't help the small chuckle that escapes him._

_By the time the little goalie has made it beyond center ice the horn to end the period goes off and both teams begin the long battle of stumbling their way to the appropriate benches. Oliver's still smiling at the spectacle when the green goalie turns towards his bench. The relatively simple action baffles Oliver; the back of his jersey reads 'Queen.' They didn't put names on the jerseys when he and Tommy played. And still more confusing, he was a center - not a goalie. He's staring at the jersey when the parents dispersed through out the stands start clapping. A dainty pair of hands shift into his line of sight._

_He knows those hands, the only difference now is his grandmother's diamond sitting on her finger._

He shakes the daydream from his mind, only to let the headache of reality take its place. With his eyes still closed, Oliver lets his chin fall to his chest as his left palm finds the tile of the shower wall for support. He needs to stop thinking like this. He can't be with her - no matter what Diggle or his heart say - can he?

A whole hour passes, just watching water cascade from his body and down the drain. Not one minute of those sixty are spent thinking about anything or anyone but Felicity. Toweling himself dry and changing into the sweatpants and thermal he purchased next door, Oliver takes a huge breath and sits on the edge of the king sized bed. He doesn't bother closing the curtains - it's still raining and bleak outside anyway. There's no threat of sunshine making its way to him.

After a low groan, he drags his hand down his tired face and reaches across the bed for the cell phone he had thrown there before jumping in the shower. 22% battery life. Awesome. There are no new alerts, just a reminder that it is 9:42 am and he has still to really sleep (sporadic dozing isn't enough to sustain a body or mind of any use).

He shoots Diggle and Roy a quick text.

Oliver: Going to pass out for a bit. Call me if anything changes with Felicity or at 2:30. Whatever happens first. If my phone dies please call the room. Thanks.

He doesn't remember falls asleep, but he must have.

_He's back in the same rink. The green team is still playing blue, but the little green goalie from before isn't in net this time. The game continues much like the last one. Number 33 is still adjusting her helmet. 47 is still clinging to the boards, but this green goalie is taller than the last. He seems to be taking goaltending far more seriously - no water breaks, no loss of concentration, and certainly no meandering. What six year old can manage that? It certainly wouldn't be his son. Just the thought of the word drops the smile from his lips and threatens to tear apart his chest._

_He might have chased away his last dream because the thought of the life he could have with Felicity only suffocated him with disappointment, but somehow he knows that this dream is going to crush him differently than the first. But it will crush him none the less._

_The horn went off. This time when the green goalie's jersey became discernable it reads 'O'Neil.' The applause started, and he tilted his head in confusion. Her hands came into view again but it wasn't his grandmother's ring she's wearing. This time it is a gaudy diamond surrounded by rubies. This time there is another pair of hands on the other side of Felicity's. Oliver's eyes shoot open when one of those hands reaches out and wraps around Felicity's._

What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he Scrooge - Did Diggle curse him? Was he going to be visited by three different versions of his future? Just the thought of another dream of Felicity had him limping to the mini fridge, praying to any god that would listen, find some form of alcohol in it.

There wasn't. Bah-Humbug.

He climbed back into bed. He needed to fall asleep thinking of anything but Felicity. Sports. Not hockey, though. No, he'd have better luck thinking about the burning pain spreading through his leg.

He knew. His distraction plan failed miserably.

_Sure enough, he was back in his spot on the bleachers. This time though, there was yet another green goalie. Oliver swallowed thickly; he had a horrible feeling twisting mercilessly in his chest. Again, the game played out as before. This goalie was more like the first one, though. He wandered around his net, had all the parents laughing as he dove across his crease pretending to make unbelievable saves; and then right before the horn he took off his mask to smile and wave at everyone in the stands. This goalie's jersey read 'Merlyn.' This is exactly the son Tommy would have had, Oliver smiled to himself. The warmth starts to fade though, thinking of Tommy and Felicity together._

_The parents are clapping, but it's not Felicity's hands he sees. Rather, both Tommy's and Laurel's hands fill his peripheral vision._

_Maybe this dream wasn't so bad. Though somewhat depressing, it was kind of nice to think of the children Tommy and Laurel would have had. But when Tommy's hand reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, his mind is assaulted with images. He felt like someone pierced his heart with the dullest knife they could find - instead of the wound being quick and clean it was slow and jagged._

_He flashes back to the night of the Undertaking. His call to Felicity, before his comm cut off, was worrisome. He sounded as if he were on the verge of unconsciousness as he told Her that he had taken down Malcolm. Her face doesn't fill with happiness or relief. It's snow white and distraught._

_Diggle informed Felicity that he was on his way to Oliver, but just pacing the foundry - waiting - wasn't enough for Felicity. She wanted to do more. That's when she remembered. Laurel. CNRI. Stubbornness. She was in her mini within 30 seconds navigating the streets, the task easier than she had expected._

_Oliver hadn't gone to CNRI that night, Felicity had. Dig had taken Oliver back to the foundry and had started to patch his broken body up when they had gotten the call._

_Whereas Tommy had beaten Oliver, in this version, Felicity had beaten Tommy. By four minutes to be exact. She had been the one impaled through the chest and pinned by the support beam. She was the one that was now gone._

_She didn't go alone, Tommy and Laurel stayed with her, but It broke Oliver to pieces. He wasn't there. He had never gotten the chance to tell her that he loved her. Hell, he didn't even get to say goodbye._

_He'd spend the rest of his life blaming himself._

This time, Oliver didn't awaken abruptly, sitting up trying to catch his breath. This time he barely opened his eyes, his shallow breaths holding in all the anger, sadness, and regret that were threatening to escape his throat.

He wished he were Scrooge. At least old Ebeneezer knew, not only what he wanted, but also what was right. For him, the answer to both problems was the same. But for Oliver, what he wanted and what was right might be two very different things.

This time when Oliver fell back asleep it was into a thoughtless void.

* * *

Felicity's eyes fluttered open. She was still extremely drowsy and groggy, but unlike her other breaks from unconsciousness, this time she felt that she could actually keep her eyes open. She quickly took in her surroundings and slowly rolled onto her side. She let a small smile sneak onto her face. Roy was stretched out, hands laced together behind his head, on one of the two visitor chairs, fast asleep. Felicity only got to observe him for a few minutes before his eyes flew open. She smiled.

"Hey sleeping beauty," he said with a voice rough with sleep.

"Speak for yourself," she said. "I wish I could look half as good as you when I sleep. Not that I watch you sleep or have some creepy attraction to you. I mean you're attractive, but just... this is me stopping before I make things any worse."

"I'm so glad to see you awake, even happier that the first thing out of your mouth was a ramble," Roy laughed. "As for my attractiveness, well let's just say that if we were ever to take a public vote, I would totally win 'Hottest Team Arrow Member'."

"Pfff," said Diggle from the doorway, Lyla tucked under his arm. "Roy, you'd be lucky if you didn't come in dead last. As for first, that trophy already has my name on it." It was Lyla's turn to snort.

"You're all crazy," Lyla laughed from her spot at Diggle's side. "My money's on Felicity. Have you seen that girl in a pencil skirt," Lyla goaded.

"You're right, Lyla. I would totally win. Have you seen the tiny pool of voters who could partake in this poll. Sara - vote for me, for obvious reasons. That sounded horrible didn't it? Nyssa - vote for me. Lyla, who already threw her support behind me. Then there's you guys, who are apparently voting for yourselves. I would soooo win. Better be a good prize." The small smile Diggle offered her triggered something like reality in her mind.

She remembered Oliver. She thought back to what he had said to Diggle. The art of it didn't matter; it came down to one thing. He was still running. He would forever be breaking her heart.

Roy pulled her from her thoughts. "I'm going to go call Oliver," he held up his phone and headed to the door.

"No," Felicity said much louder and vehemently than she had intended. "Please don't. Just - can you just get me a tablet." Roy couldn't hide the confused expression that settled on his face. He peered back at Diggle, but Diggle looked just as confused as him. Lyla reached into her bag, eyebrows knitted, as she handed Felicity her own Argus tablet.

Observing all the concerned faces, she gave them the only explanation she was capable of at the moment.

"Thea," Felicity whispered. The light and joking atmosphere had evaporated. Her whole body ached - inside and out. "I just want to find Thea."


End file.
